SJ^£^^^^!^^  ^^  ^^^^S^^^^S  ^^  < 


DPJI'Airi'MKXT   OF 


IjIElItja.H.'K'    OIF 


#  University  of  Illinoi^'i 


Books  are  not  to  be  taken  from  the  Library  Room.  ^ 


NOTICE:  Return  or  renew  «ii  i  ik 

each  Lost  Boo.  ,s  ^^  J,""  '"^^'^  "-*«"«'«'  The  Minlmun,  Fee  for 


L16]— O-1096 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign 


http://www.archive.org/details/adventuresofphili01thac 


Sillu^tratcb  Stifirarp  ambition 


THE  COMPLETE  WORKS 

OF 

WILLIAM   MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY   THE  AUTHOR,   AND    WITH 
■       INTRODUCTORY  NOTES  SETTING  FORTH  THE 
HISTORY  OF   THE  SEVERAL    WORKS 

IN  TWENTY-TWO  VOLUMES 
VOLUME  XVIL 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

SHOWING  WHO  ROBBED  HIM,  WHO  HELPED  HIM 
ANE>  WHO   PASSED  HIM  BY 

TO  WHICH   IS   NOW   PREFIXED 

A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY 
CATHERINE:  A  STORY 

By   IKEY   SOLOMONS,    ESQ.,  JUNIOR 

BY 

WILLIAM   MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 


WITH  NINETY-FIVE  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  THE 

AUTHOR,  FREDERICK  WALKER 

AND  R.  B.  WALLACE 

AND   AN 

INTRODUCTORY  NOTE  SETTING  FORTH  THE  HISTORY 
OF  THESE  WRITINGS 


IN    TWO   VOLUMES 
VOL.    L 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 

M  DCCC  XCII 


Copyright,  1889, 
By  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   &  CO. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  and  Company. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


A  Shabby  Genteel  Story  was  begun  in  Fraser^s  Magazine, 
where  it  ran  through  June,  July,  August,  and  October, 
1840.  We  say  begun,  for  though  the  readers  of  the  period- 
ical may  have  thought  the  last  movements  of  the  story 
rather  rapid,  they  saw  that  the  author  had  wound  his  tale 
to  the  striking  point.  Seventeen  years  later,  when  Thack- 
eray's fame  was  established,  he  published  his  Miscellanies, 
and  in  the  fourth  volume  inserted  this  story  with  the  fol- 
lowing prefatory  note,  dated  London,  April  10th,  1857 :  — 

"  It  was  my  intention  to  complete  the  little  story,  of 
which  only  the  first  part  is  here  written.  Perhaps  novel- 
readers  will  understand,  even  from  the  above  chapters, 
what  was  to  ensue.  Caroline  was  to  be  disowned  and 
deserted  by  her  wicked  husband :  that  abandoned  man  was 
to  marry  somebody  else :  hence,  bitter  trials  and  grief, 
patience  and  virtue,  for  poor  little  Caroline,  and  a  mel- 
ancholy ending  —  as  how  should  it  have  been  gay  ?  The 
tale  was  interrupted  at  a  sad  period  of  the  writer's  own 
life.  The  colors  are  long  since  dry;  the  artist's  hand  is 
changed.  It  is  best  to  leave  the  sketch  as  it  was  when  first 
designed,  seventeen  years  ago.  The  memory  of  the  past  is 
renewed  as  he  looks  at  it  — 

«'die  Bilder  froher  Tage 
Und  manche  liebe  Schatten  steigen  auf.'  " 

The  "  sad  period  "  of  the  writer's  life  was  that  in  which 


'LZ^^f^ 


vi  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

his  home  was  made  desolate  by  the  hopeless  insanity  of 
his  wife.  He  had  married  in  1837  Isabella,  daughter  of 
Colonel  Matthew  Shawe,  and  by  her  had  three  daughters, 
Anne,  Jane,  and  Harriet.  Anne,  who  has  won  a  distinct 
place  in  literature,  is  Mrs.  Richmond  Eitchie  ;  Jane  died 
in  childhood,  and  Harriet  married  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen,  but 
died  after  her  father's  death.  Thackeray's  marriage  took 
place  just  as  he  lost  his  patrimony,  and  the  reader  will 
have  noticed  that  the  years  immediately  following  were 
busily  employed  in  fragmentary  work,  chiefly  in  Fraser,  re- 
sulting in  The  Paris  Sketch  Book  and  in  the  volumes  after- 
ward combined  in  Miscellanies.  No  one  can  read  either 
Thackeray's  writings  or  his  letters  without  perceiving  how 
double  a  life  he  led,  with  his  children  on  the  one  hand, 
at  his  club  on  the  other.  It  was  the  need  of  providing 
for  his  children  which  stimulated  him  to  write  and  sent 
him  on  his  lecturing  tours  in  America ;  it  was  the  loneli- 
ness of  his  fireside  which  sent  him  to  his  club.  As  his 
children  grew  and  became  companions,  his  domestic  life 
was  more  identified  with  his  work,  and  he  lived  long 
enough  to  welcome  his  eldest  daughter  to  a  place  by  his 
side  in  literature. 

As  intimated  in  the  note  quoted  above,  Thackeray  at  first 
designed  completing  A  Shabby  Genteel  Story  in  a  formal 
fashion,  but  changed  his  mind  and  instead  revived  some  of 
the  characters  as  the  Brandons  and  Mr.  Gann  in  a  new 
novel  The  Adventures  of  Philip,  which  he  contributed  to 
The  Cornhill  Magazine,  beginning  with  the  number  for 
Januar}^,  1861,  the  third  volume  of  the  magazine,  which 
opened  with  the  story,  and  continuing  it  until  August, 
1862.  Immediately  afterward  he  published  it  in  three  vol- 
umes, without  the  illustrations,  dedicating  it  to  his  friend 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE.  vii 

M.  I.  Higgins,  the  "Jacob  Omnium"  of  The  Times,  whose 
tall  figure  was  very  familiar  by  the  side  of  Thackeray's 
equally  tall  person. 

The  story  of  Catherine  was  an  early  production  and  may 
be  said  to  have  had  its  origin  in  Thackeray's  mind  when 
he  was  a  critic  rather  than  a  novelist,  and  was  moved  to 
express  his  strong  sense  of  moral  indignation  in  a  tale 
which  should  be  a  protest  against  a  current  weak  senti- 
mentalism.  Later,  he  resorted  to  the  burlesque  when  he 
wished  to  satirize  folly,  but  at  this  time,  when  he  was  grop- 
ing about  for  the  proper  exercise  of  his  power,  he  used  a 
heavier  weapon,  though  one  scarcely  as  effective.  He  had 
indeed  once  before  made  a  similar  venture.  In  1832  he  had 
published  in  Fraser  the  tale  of  Elisabeth  Broivnrigge,  in- 
tended as  a  satirical  attack  upon  Bulwer's  Eugene  Aram. 
This  story  will  be  found  in  a  subsequent  volume  of  this 
edition.  In  1839  Eugene  Aram  had  been  distanced  by 
Jack  Sheppard,  and  certain  parts  of  Oliver  Twist.  Thack- 
eray, though  he  had  not  yet  acquired  the  delicate  power  of 
depicting  human  life  which  afterward  made  much  of  his 
work  a  foil  to  that  of  Dickens,  had  that  instinct  for  truth- 
fulness and  that  contempt  for  sham  and  unreality  which 
lay  at  the  base  of  all  his  work.  He  was  a  young  man  and 
he  seized  upon  the  heaviest  weapon  he  could  yield.  He 
resolved  to  paint  the  criminal  in  colors  which  would  not 
allure  the  eye,  and  to  strip  from  the  class,  which  appeared 
to  be  furnishing  heroes  and  heroines  in  fiction,  all  its  ro- 
mantic disguises.  Accordingly  he  took  for  his  heroine 
Catherine  Hayes  who  was  burned  at  Tyburn,  in  1726,  for 
the  murder  of  her  husband.  The  actual  history  of  the 
woman  was  revolting  enough,  and  Thackeray  did  not  shrink 


viii  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

from  a  Hogarth-like  fidelity  in  portraiture.  The  tale  by 
itself  is  not  an  attractive  one,  and  lay  long  undisturbed  in 
the  pages  of  Fraser  ;  but  to  the  student  of  Thackeray  it  has 
great  interest  from  the  hints  it  gives  of  the  more  perfected 
power  which  afterward  used  keener  weapons.  He  learned 
to  employ  a  subtle  irony  in  place  of  a  blunt  savagery.  It 
would  almost  seem  as  if  Thackeray  in  writing  Catherine 
suddenly  discovered  near  the  close  the  burlesque  key  in 
which  he  should  have  written  the  tale. 

Boston,  August,  1889. 


CONTENTS. 


A  SHABBY   GENTEEL  STORY. 

CHAPTER                                                                                                                                                              PAGE 
1 1 

II.    How  Mrs.  Ganx  keceived  Two  Lodgers     ....    14 
III.    A  Shabby  Genteel  Dinner,  and  Other  Incidents 

OF  A  Like  Mature 26 

TV.    In  which  Mr.  Fitch  proclaims  his  Love,  and  Mr. 

Brandon  prepares  for  War 41 

Y.     Contains   a   Great   Deal  of   Complicated   Love- 
making     49 

VI.    Describes  a  Shabby  Genteel  Marriage,  and  more 

Love-Making 6Q 

YII.    Which   brings   a    Great   Number   of   People   to 

Margate  by  the  Steamboat 74 

VIII.    Which    treats    of   War    and    Love,    and    Many 
Things   that   are   not  to   be   understood  in 

Chapter  VII 81 

LX.    Which  threatens  Death,  but  contains  a  Great 

Deal  of  MARRY^NG 95 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP. 

I.    Doctor  Fell Ill 

II.    At  School  and  at  Home 122 

III.  A   CONSL-LTATION 132 

IV.  A  Genteel  FAmLY 142 

ix 


X  CONTENTS, 

V.    The  Noble  Kinsmax 157 

VI.    Bkandon's 174 

VII.    Impletur  Veteeis  Bacchi 189 

VIII.  Will  be   pronounced  to   be   Cynical  by  the 

Benevolent 206 

IX.  Contains   One   Riddle   which   is    solved,   and 

PERHAPS   SOME  MORE 214 

X.    In  which  we  visit  "Admiral  Byng" 226 

XI.  In  which  Philip  is  very  ill-tempered    ....  238 

XII.    Damocles 254 

XIII.  Love  Me,  love  my  Dog 274 

XIV.  Contains  Two  of  Philip's  Mishaps 288 

XV.    Samaritans 307 

XVI.     In  which  Philip  shows  his  Mettle 316 

XVII.    Brevis  esse  Laboro 337 

XVIII.    Drum  ist's  so  wohl  mir  in  der  Welt 348 

XIX.     Qu'oN  est  bien  a  Vingt  Ans 368 

XX.     Course  of  True  Love 383 

XXL    Treats  of  Dancing,  Dining,  Dying 400 

XXII.    PuLvis  ET  Umbra  sumus 421 

XXIII.  In  which  we  still  hover  about  the  Elysian 

Fields 431 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


CHAPTER  I. 


T  that  remarkable  period  when 
Louis  XVIII.  was  restored  a 
second  time  to  the  throne  of 
his  fathers,  and  all  the  Eng- 
lish who  had  money  or  lei- 
sure rushed  over  to  the  Con- 
tinent, there  lived  in  a  certain 
boarding-house  at  Brussels  a 
genteel  young  widow,  who 
bore  the  elegant  name  of 
Mrs.  Welle sley  Macarty. 

In  the  same  house  and  room 
with  the  widow  lived  her 
mamma,  a  lady  who  was 
called  Mrs.  Crabb.  Both 
professed  to  be  rather  fash- 
ionable people.  The  Crabbs 
were  of  a  very  old  English  stock,  and  the  Macartys  were, 
as  the  world  knows,  County  Cork  people ;  related  to  the 
Sheeny  s,  Finnigans,  Clancys,  and  other  distinguished 
families  in  their  part  of  Ireland.  But  Ensign  Wellesley 
]Mac,  not  having  a  shilling,  ran  off  with  Miss  Crabb,  who 
possessed  the  same  independence ;  and,  after  having  been 
married  about  six  months  to  the  lady,  was  carried  off  sud- 
denly, on  the  18th  of  June,  1815,  by  a  disease  very  preva- 
lent in  those  glorious  times — the  fatal  cannon-shot  morbus. 
He  and  many  hundred  young  fellows  of  his  regiment,  the 
Clonakilty  Fencibles,  were  attacked  by  this  epidemic  on 
the  same  day,  at  a  place  about  ten  miles  from  Brussels,  and 
there  perished.  The  ensign's  lady  had  accompanied  her 
husband  to  the  Continent,  and  about  five  months  after  his 

VOL.    I. 1  1 


2  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

death  brought  into  the  world  two  remarkably  fine  female 
children. 

Mrs.  Wellesley's  mother  had  been  reconciled  to  her 
daughter  by  this  time  —  for,  in  truth,  Mrs.  Crabb  had  no 
other  child  but  her  runaway  Juliana,  to  whom  she  flew 
when  she  heard  of  her  destitute  condition.  And,  indeed,  it 
was  high  time  that  some  one  should  come  to  the  young 
widow's  aid ;  for  as  her  husband  did  not  leave  money,  nor 
anything  that  represented  money,  except  a  number  of 
tailors'  and  bootmakers'  bills,  neatly  docketed,  in  his 
writing-desk,  Mrs.  Wellesley  was  in  danger  of  starvation, 
should  no  friendly  person  assist  her. 

Mrs.  Crabb,  then,  came  off  to  her  daughter,  whom  the 
Sheenys,  Finnigans,  and  Clancys  refused,  with  one  scornful 
voice,  to  assist.  The  fact  is,  that  Mr.  Crabb  had  once  been 
butler  to  a  lord,  and  his  lady  a  lady's-maid ;  and  at  Crabb's 
death,  Mrs.  Crabb  disposed  of  the  "Ram"  hotel  and 
posting-house,  where  her  husband  had  made  tliree  thousand 
pounds,  and  was  living  in  genteel  ease  in  a  country  town, 
when  Ensign  Macarty  came,  saw,  and  ran  away  with  Juliana. 
Of  such  a  connection,  it  was  impossible  that  the  great 
Clancys  and  Einnigans  could  take  notice ;  and  so  once  more 
widow  Crabb  was  compelled  to  share  with  her  daughter  her 
small  income  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  a  year. 

Upon  this,  at  a  boarding-house  in  Brussels,  the  two  man- 
aged to  live  pretty  smartly,  and  to  maintain  an  honorable 
reputation.  The  twins  were  put  out,  after  the  foreign 
fashion,  to  nurse,  at  a  village  in  the  neighborhood ;  for  Mrs. 
Macarty  had  been  too  ill  to  nurse  them,  and  Mrs  Crabb 
could  not  afford  to  purchase  that  most  expensive  article,  a 
private  wet-nurse. 

There  had  been  numberless  tiffs  and  quarrels  between 
mother  and  daughter  when  the  latter  was  in  her  maiden  state ; 
and  Mrs.  Crabb  was,  to  tell  the  truth,  in  no  wise  sorry  when 
her  Jooly  disappeared  with  the  ensign,  —  for  the  old  lady 
dearly  loved  a  gentleman,  and  was  not  a  little  flattered  at 
being  the  mother  to  Mrs.  Ensign  Macarty.  Why  the  ensign 
should  have  run  away  with  his  lady  at  all,  as  he  might 
have  had  her  for  the  asking,  is  no  business  of  ours ;  nor  are 
we  going  to  rake  up  old  stories  and  village  scandals,  which 
insinuate  that  Miss  Cra])b  ran  away  with  him,  for  with 
these  points  the  writer  and  the  reader  have  nothing  to  do. 

Well,  then,  the  reconciled  mother  and  daughter  lived 
once  more  together,  at  Brussels.     In  the  course  of  a  year, 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  3 

Mrs.  Macarty's  sorrow  had  much  abated;  and  having  a 
great  natural  love  of  dress,  and  a  tolerably  handsome  face 
and  person,  she  was  induced,  without  much  reluctance,  to 
throw  her  weeds  aside,  and  to  appear  in  the  most  becoming 
and  varied  costumes  which  her  means  and  ingenuity  could 
furnish.  Considering,  indeed,  the  smallness  of  the  former, 
it  was  agreed  on  all  hands  that  ^Irs.  Crabb  and  her  daugh- 
ter deserved  wonderful  credit,  —  that  is,  they  managed  to 
keep  up  as  respectable  an  appearance  as  if  they  had  five 
hundred  a  year ;  and  at  church,  at  tea-parties,  and  abroad  in 
the  streets,  to  be  what  is  called  quite  the  gentlewomen. 
If  the}'  starved  at  home,  nobody  saw  it ;  if  they  patched 
and  pieced,  nobody  (it  was  to  be  hoped)  knew  it;  if  they 
bragged  about  their  relations  and  property,  could  any  one 
say  thern  nay  ?  Thus  they  lived,  hanging  on  with  despe- 
rate energy  to  the  skirts  of  genteel  societ}' ;  ]\Irs.  Crabb,  a 
sharp  woman,  rather  respected  her  daughter's  superior 
rank ;  and  Mrs.  Macarty  did  not  quarrel  so  much  as  hereto- 
fore with  her  mamma,  on  whom  herself  and  her  two  chil- 
dren were  entirely  dependent. 

While  affairs  were  at  this  juncture,  it  happened  that  a 
young  Englishman.  James  Gann,  Esq.,  of  the  great  oil- 
house  of  Gann,  Blubbery,  and  Gann  (as  he  took  care  to  tell 
3'ou  before  you  had  been  an  hour  in  his  company),  —  it  hap- 
pened, I  sa}',  that  James  Gann,  Esq.,  came  to  Brussels  for 
the  purpose  of  perfecting  himself  in  the  French  language ; 
and  while  in  that  capital  went  to  lodge  at  the  very  boarding- 
house  which  contained  Mrs.  Crabb  and  her  daughter.  Gann 
was  j'oung,  weak,  inflammable;  he  saw  and  adored  Mrs. 
Welles] ey  Macarty  ;  and  she.  who  was  at  this  period  all  but 
engaged  to  a  stout  old  wooden-legged  Scotch  regimental  sur- 
geon, pitilessly  sent  Dr.  M'Lint  about  his  business,  and 
accepted  the  addresses  of  jNlr.  Gann.  How  the  young  man 
arranged  matters  with  his  papa  the  senior  partner,  I  don't 
know ;  but  it  is  certain  that  there  was  a  quarrel,  and  after- 
wards a  reconciliation;  and  it  is  also  known  that  James 
Gann  fought  a  duel  with  the  surgeon,  —  receiving  the 
.Esculapian  tire,  and  discharging  his  own  bullet  into  the 
azure  skies.  About  nine  thousand  times  in  the  course  of 
his  after  years  did  Mr.  Gann  narrate  the  history  of  the 
combat ;  it  enabled  him  to  go  through  life  with  the  reputa- 
tion of  a  man  of  courage,  and  won  for  him,  as  he  said  with 
pride,  the  hand  of  his  Juliana;  perhaps  this  was  rather  a 
questionable  benefit. 


4  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

One  part  of  the  tale,  however,  honest  James  never  did 
dare  to  tell,  except  when  peculiarly  excited  by  wrath  or 
liquor ;  it  was  this  :  that  on  the  day  after  the  wedding,  and 
in  the  presence  of  many  friends  who  had  come  to  offer 
their  congratulations,  a  stout  nurse,  bearing  a  brace  of 
chubby  little  ones,  made  her  appearance;  and  these  rosy 
urchins,  springing  forward  at  the  sight  of  Mrs.  James 
Gann,  shouted  affectionately,  "  Maman  !  3Iama7i  ! "  at 
which  the  lady,  blushing  rosy  red,  said,  "  James,  these  two 
are  yours  ; "  and  poor  James  well-nigh  fainted  at  this  sud- 
den paternity  so  put  upon  him.  "  Children ! "  screamed  he, 
aghast;  "whose  children?"  at  which  Mrs.  Crabb,  majesti- 
cally checking  him,  said,  "  These,  my  dear  James,  are  the 
daughters  of  the  gallant  and  good  Ensign  Macarty,  whose 
widow  you  yesterday  led  to  the  altar.  May  you  be  happy 
with  her,  and  may  these  blessed  children"  (tears)  "find 
in  you  a  father,  who  shall  replace  him  that  fell  in  the  field 
of  glory ! " 

Mrs.  Crabb,  Mrs.  James  Gann,  Mrs.  Major  Lolly,  Mrs. 
Piffler,  and  several  ladies  present,  set  up  a  sob  immediately ; 
and  James  Gann,  a  good-humored,  soft-hearted  man,  was 
quite  taken  aback.  Kissing  his  lady  hurriedly,  he  vowed 
that  he  would  take  care  of  the  poor  little  things,  and  pro- 
posed to  kiss  them  likewise  ;  which  caress  the  darlings  re- 
fused with  many  roars.  Gann's  fate  was  sealed  from  that 
minute ;  and  he  was  properly  henpecked  by  his  wife  and 
mother-in-law  during  the  life  of  the  latter.  Indeed 
it  was  to  Mrs.  Crabb  that  the  stratagem  of  the  infant 
concealment  was  due ;  for  when  her  daughter  innocently 
proposed  to  have  or  to  see  the  children,  the  old  lady 
strongly  pointed  out  the  folly  of  such  an  arrangement, 
which  might,  perhaps,  frighten  away  Mr.  Gann  from  the 
delightful  matrimonial  trap  into  which  (lucky  rogue  !)  he 
was  about  to  fall. 

Soon  after  the  marriage,  the  happy  pair  returned  to 
England,  occupying  the  house  in  Thames  Street,  City,  until 
the  death  of  Gann  senior ;  when  his  son,  becoming  head  of 
the  firm  of  Gann  and  Blubbery,  quitted  the  dismal  precincts 
of  Billingsgate  and  colonized  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Putney,  where  a  neat  box,  a  couple  of  spare  bedrooms,  a 
good  cellar,  and  a  smart  gig  to  drive  into  and  out  from 
town  made  a  real  gentleman  of  him.  Mrs.  Gann  treated 
him  with  much  scorn,  to  be  sure,  called  him  a  sot,  and 
abused  hugely  the  male  companions  that  he  brought  down 


A    SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  5 

witli  him  to  Putney.  Honest  James  would  listen  meekly^ 
would  yield,  and  would  bring  down  a  brace  more  friends 
the  next  day,  with  whom  he  would  discuss  his  accustomed 
number  of  bottles  of  port.  About  this  period,  a  daughter 
was  born  to  him,  called  Caroline  Brandenburg  Gann ;  so 
named  after  a  large  mansion  near  Hammersmith,  and  an 
injured  queen  who  lived  there  at  the  time  of  the  little 
girl's  birth,  and  who  was  greatly  compassioned  and  patron- 
ized by  Mrs.  James  Gann,  and  other  ladies  of  distinction. 


^.:i!.ii^jj.:r.i4 


Mrs.  James  ivas  a  lady  in  those  days,  and  gave  evening- 
parties  of  the  very  first  order. 

At  this  period  of  time.  ^Frs.  James  Gann  sent  the  twins, 
Rosalind  Clancy  and  Isabella  Finnif!:an  Wellesley  Macartv, 
to  a  boarding-school  for  young  ladies,  and  grumbled  much 
at  the  amount  of  the  half-years'  bills  which  her  husband 
was  called  upon  to  pay  for  them ;  for  though  James  dis- 
charged them  with  perfect  good-humor,  his  lady  began 
to  entertain  a  mean  opinion  indeed  of  her  pretty  young 
children.  They  could  expect  no  fortune,  she  said,  from 
Mr.    Gann,   and   she   wondered   that   he    should  think   of 


6  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

bringing  them  up  expensively,  when  he  had  a  darling  child 
of  his  own,  for  whom  he  was  bound  to  save  all  the  money 
that  he  could  lay  by. 

Grandmamma,  too,  doted  on  the  little  Caroline  Branden- 
burg, and  vowed  that  she  would  leave  her  three  thousand 
pounds  to  this  dear  infant ;  for  in  this  way  does  the  world 
show  its  respect  for  that  most  respectable  thing,  prosperit3\ 
Who  in  this  life  get  the  smiles,  and  the  acts  of  friendship, 
and  the  pleasing  legacies  ?  —  The  rich.  And  I  do,  for  my 
part,  heartily  w^sh  that  some  one  would  leave  me  a  trifle  — 
say  twenty  thousand  pounds  —  being  perfectly  confident 
that  some  one  else  would  leave  me  more ;  and  that  I  should 
sink  into  my  grave  worth  a  plum  at  least. 

Little  Cai'oline  then  had  her  maid,  her  airy  nursery,  her 
little  carriage  to  drive  in,  the  promise  of  her  grandmamma's 
consols,  and  that  priceless  treasure  —  her  mamma's  undivided 
affection.  Gann,  too,  loved  her  sincerely,  in  his  careless, 
good-humored  way  ;  but  he  determined,  notwithstanding, 
that  his  step-daughters  should  have  something  handsome 
at  his  death,  but — but  for  a  great  But. 

Gann  and  Blubbery  were  in  the  oil  line  —  have  we  not 
said  so  ?  Their  proflts  arose  from  contracts  for  lighting  a 
great  number  of  streets  in  London ;  and  about  this  period 
Gas  came  into  use.  Gann  and  Blubbery  appeared  in  the 
Gazette;  and,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  so  bad  had  been  the  man- 
agement of  Blubbery  —  so  great  the  extravagance  of  both 
partners  and  their  ladies  —  that  the}^  only  paid  their  credi- 
tors fourteenpence  halfpenny  in  the  pound. 

When  Mrs.  Crabb  heard  of  this  dreadful  accident  —  Mrs. 
Crabb,  who  dined  thrice  a  week  with  her  son-in-law ;  who 
never  would  have  been  allowed  to  enter  the  house  at  all  had 
not  honest  James  interposed  his  good -nature  between  her 
quarrelsome  daughter  and  herself  —  Mrs.  Crabb,  I  say,  pro- 
claimed James  Gann  to  be  a  swindler,  a  villain,  a  disrepu- 
table, tipsy,  vulgar  man,  and  made  over  her  money  to  the 
Misses  Eosalind  Clancy  and  Isabella  Finnigan  Macarty, 
leaving  poor  little  Caroline  without  one  single  maravedi. 
Half  of  one  thousand  five  hundred  pounds  allotted  to  each 
was  to  be  paid  at  marriage,  the  other  half  on  the  death  of 
Mrs.  James  Gann,  who  was  to  enjoy  the  interest  thereof. 
Thus  do  we  rise  and  fall  in  this  world  —  thus  does  Fortune 
shake  her  swift  wings,  and  bid  us  abruptly  to  resign  the 
gifts  (or  rather  loans)  which  we  have  had  from  her. 

How  Gann  and  his  family  lived  after  their  stroke  of  mis- 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  7 

fortune,  I  know  not ;  but  as  the  failing  tradesman  is  going 
through  the  process  of  bankruptcy,  and  for  some  months 
afterwards,  it  may  be  remarked  that  he  has  usually  some 
mysterious  means  of  subsistence  —  stray  spars  of  the  wreck 
of  his  property,  on  which  he  manages'  to  seize,  and  to  float 
for  a  while.  During  his  retirement,  in  an  obscure  lodging 
in  Lambeth,  where  the  poor  fellow  was  so  tormented  by  his 
wife  as  to  be  compelled  to  fly  to  the  public-house  for  refuge, 
Mrs.  Crabb  died;  a  hundred  a  year  thus  came  into  the  pos- 
session of  Mrs.  Gann  ;  and  some  of  James's  friends,  avIio 
thought  him  a  good  fellow  in  his  prosperity,  came  forward, 
and  furnished  a  house,  in  which  they  placed  him,  and  came 
to  see  and  comfort  him.  Then  they  came  to  see  him  not 
quite  so  often  ;  then  they  found  out  that  Mrs.  Gann  was  a 
sad  tyrant,  and  a  silly  woman  ;  then  the  ladies  declared  her 
to  be  insupportable,  and  Grum  to  be  a  low,  tipsy  fellow; 
and  the  gentlemen  could  but  shake  their  heads,  and  admit 
that  the  charge  was  true.  Then  they  left  oif  coming  to  see 
him  altogether  ;  for  such  is  the  way  of  the  world,  where 
many  of  us  have  good  impulses,  and  are  generous  on  an  oc- 
casion, but  are  wearied  by  perpetual  want,  and  begin  to 
grow  angry  at  its  importunities  —  being  very  properly  vexed 
at  the  daily  recurrence  of  hunger,  and  the  impudent  unrea- 
sonableness of  starvation.  Gann,  then,  had  a  genteel  wife 
and  children,  a  furnished  house,  and  a  hundred  pounds  a 
year.  How  should  he  live  ?  The  wife  of  James  Gann, 
Esq.,  would  never  allow  him  to  demean  himself  by  taking 
a  clerk's  place  ;  and  James  himself,  being  as  idle  a  fellow 
as  ever  was  known,  was  fain  to  acquiesce  in  this  determina- 
tion of  hers,  and  to  wait  for  some  more  genteel  employ- 
ment. And  a  curious  list  of  such  genteel  employments 
might  be  made  out,  were  one  inclined  to  follow  this  inter- 
esting subject  far ;  shabby  compromises  with  the  world, 
into  which  poor  fellows  enter,  and  still  fondly  talk  of  their 
"  position,"  and  strive  to  imagine  that  they  are  really  work- 
ing for  their  bread. 

Numberless  lodging-houses  are  kept  by  the  females  of 
families  who  have  met  with  reverses :  are  not  "  boarding- 
houses,  with  a  select  musical  society,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  squares,"  maintained  by  such  ?  Do  not  the  gentle- 
men of  the  boarding-houses  issue  forth  every  morning  to 
the  City,  or  make  believe  to  go  thither,  on  some  mysterious 
business  which  they  have  ?  After  a  certain  period,  Mrs. 
James   Gann  kept  a  lodging-house  (in  her  own  words,  re- 


8  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY, 

ceived  "two  inmates  into  her  family"),  and  Mr.  Gann  had 
his  mysterious  business. 

In  the  year  1835,  when  this  story  begins,  there  stood  in  a 
certain  back-street  in  the  town  of  Margate  a  house,  on  the 
door  of  which  might  be  read,  in  gleaming  brass,  the  name 
of  Mr.  Gann.  It  was  the  work  of  a  single  smutty  servant- 
maid  to  clean  this  brass  plate  every  morning,  and  to  attend 
as  far  as  possible  to  the  wants  of  Mr.  Gann,  his  family,  and 
lodgers  ;  and  his  house  being  not  very  far  from  the  sea,  and 
as  you  might,  by  climbing  up  to  the  roof,  get  a  sight 
between  two  chimneys  of  that  multitudinous  element,  Mrs. 
Gann  set  down  her  lodgings  as  fashionable ;  and  declared 
on  her  cards  that  her  house  commanded  "a  fine  view  of 
the  sea." 

On  the  wire  window-blind  of  the  parlor  was  written,  in 
large  characters,  the  word  Office;  and  here  it  Avas  that 
Gann's  services  came  into  play.  He  was  very  much 
changed,  poor  fellow,  and  humbled ;  and  from  two  cards 
that  hung  outside  the  blind,  I  am  led  to  believe  that  he  did 
not  disdain  to  be  agent  to  the  "  London  and  Jamaica  Ginger- 
Beer  Company,"  and  also  for  a  certain  preparation  called 
"  Gaster's  Infants'  Farinacio,  or  Mothers'  Invigorating  Sub- 
stitute,"—  a  damp,  black,  mouldy,  half-pound  packet  of 
which  stood  in  permanence  at  one  end  of  the  "  office  "  man- 
tel-piece, while  a  fly-blown  ginger-beer  bottle  occupied  the 
other  extremity.  Nothing  else  indicated  that  this  ground- 
floor  chamber  was  an  office,  except  a  huge  black  inkstand, 
in  Avhich  stood  a  stumpy  pen,  richly  crusted  Avith  ink  at 
the  nib,  and  to  all  appearance  for  many  months  enjoying  a 
sinecure. 

To  this  room  you  saw  every  day,  at  two  o'clock,  the  e??i- 
2)loi/e  from  the  neighboring  hotel  bring  two  quarts  of  beer ; 
and  if  you  called  at  that  hour,  a  tremendous  smoke  and 
smell  of  dinner  would  gush  out  upon  you  from  the  "  office," 
as  you  stumbled  over  sundry  battered  tin  dish-covers,  which 
lay  gaping  at  the  threshold.  Thus  had  that  great  bulwark  of 
gentility,  the  dining  at  six  o'clock,  been  broken  in ;  and  the 
reader  must  therefore  judge  that  the  house  of  Gann  was  in 
a  demoralized  state. 

Gann  certainly  was.  After  the  ladies  had  retired  to  the 
back-parlor  (which,  with  yellow  gauze  round  the  frames, 
window-curtains,  a  red  silk  cabinet  piano,  and  an  album,  was 
still  tolerably  genteel).  Gann  remained,  to  transact  business 
in  the  office.     This  took  place  in  the  presence  of  friends, 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  g 

and  usually  consisted  in  the  production  of  a  bottle  of  gin 
from  the  corner  cupboard,  or,  mayhap,  a  litre  of  brandy, 
which  Avas  given  by  Gann  with  a  knowing  wink,  and  a  fat 
finger  placed  on  a  twinkling  red  nose  :  when  Mrs.  G.  was 
out,  James  would  also  produce  a  number  of  pipes,  that 
gave  this  room  a  constant  and  agreeable  odor  of  shag 
tobacco. 

In  fact,  Mr.  Gann  had  nothing  to  do  from  morning  till 
night.  He  was  now  a  fat,  bald-headed  man  of  fifty;  a  dirty 
dandy  on  week-days,  with  a  shawl-waistcoat,  a  tult  of  hair 
to  his  great  double  chin,  a  snuffy  shirt-frill,  and  enormous 
breastpin  and  seals ;  he  had  a  pilot-coat,  with  large  mother- 
of-pearl  buttons,  and  always  wore  a  great  rattling  telescope, 
with  which  he  might  be  seen  for  hours  on  the  sea-shore  or 
the  pier,  examining  the  ships,  the  bathing-machines,  the 
ladies'  schools  as  they  paraded  up  and  down  the  esplanade, 
and  all  other  objects  which  the  telescopic  view  might  give 
him.  He  knew  every  person  connected  with  every  one  of  the 
Deal  and  Dover  coaches,  and  was  sure  to  be  witness  to  the 
arrival  or  departure  of  several  of  them  in  the  course  of  the 
day ;  he  had  a  word  for  the  hostler  about  that  "gra}'  mare," 
a  nod  for  the  "shooter"  or  guard,  and  a  bow  for  the  drags- 
man;  he  could  send  parcels  for  nothing  up  to  town ;  had 
twice  had  Sir  Eumble  Tumble  (the  noble  driver  of  the  Flash- 
o'-lightning-light-four-inside-post-coach)  "  up  at  his  place," 
and  took  care  to  tell  you  that  some  of  the  party  were  pretty 
considerably  •'  sewn  up,"  too.  He  did  not  frequent  the  large 
hotels ;  but  in  revenge  he  knew  every  person  who  entered 
or  left  them,  and  was  a  great  man  at  the  "Bag  of  jSTails" 
and  the  "  Magpie  and  Punchbowl,"  where  he  was  president 
of  a  club ;  he  took  the  bass  in  "Mynheer  Van  Dunck,"  -The 
Wolf,"  and  many  other  morsels  of  concerted  song,  and  used 
to  go  backwards  and  forwards  to  London  in  the  steamers  as 
often  as  ever  he  liked,  and  have  his  "  grub,"  too,  on  board. 
Such  was  James  Gann.  Many  people,  when  they  wrote  to 
him,  addressed  him  as  James  Gann,  Esq. 

His  reverses  and  former  splendors  afforded  a  never-failing 
theme  of  conversation  to  honest  Gann  and  the  whole  of  his 
family;  and  it  may  be  remarked  that  such  pecuniary  mis- 
fortunes, as  they  are  called,  are  by  no  means  misfortunes  to 
people  of  certain  dispositions,  but  actual  pieces  of  good  luck. 
Gann,  for  instance,  used  to  drink  liberally  of  port  and  claret, 
when  the  house  of  Gann  and  Blubbery  was  in  existence,  and 
was  henceforth  compelled  to  imbibe  only  brandy  and  gin. 


10  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

Now  he  loved  these  a  thousand  times  more  than  the  wine ; 
and  had  the  advantage  of  talking  about  the  latter,  and  of  his 
great  merit  in  giving  them  up.  In  those  prosperous  days, 
too,  being  a  gentleman,  he  could  not  frequent  the  public- 
house  as  he  did  at  present ;  and  the  sanded  tavern-parlor 
was  Gann's  supreme  enjoyment.  He  was  obliged  to  spend 
many  hours  daily  in  a  dark  unsavory  room  in  an  alley  off 
Thames  Street ;  and  G-ann  hated  books  and  business,  except 
of  other  people's.  His  tastes  were  low ;  he  loved  public- 
house  jokes  and  company;  and  now,  being  fallen,  was  voted 
at  the  "  Bag  of  Kails  "  and  the  "  Magpie  "  before  mentioned 
a  tip-top  fellow  and  real  gentleman,  whereas  he  had  been 
considered  an  ordinary  vulgar  man  by  his  fashionable  asso- 
ciates at  Putney.  Many  man  are  there  who  are  made  to  fall, 
and  to  profit  by  the  tumble. 

As  for  Mrs.  G.,  or  Jooly,  as  she  was  indifferently  called 
by  her  husband,  she,  too,  had  gained  by  her  losses.  She 
bragged  of  her  former  acquaintances  in  the  most  extraordi- 
nary way,  and  to  hear  her  you  would  fancy  that  she  was  known 
to  and  connected  with  half  the  peerage.  Her  chief  occupa- 
tion was  taking  medicine,  and  mending  and  altering  her 
gowns.  She  had  a  huge  taste  for  cheap  finer}",  loved  raffles, 
tea-parties,  and  walks  on  the  pier,  where  she  flaunted  her- 
self and  daughters  as  gay  as  butterflies.  She  stood  upon 
her  rank,  did  not  fail  to  tell  her  lodgers  that  she  was  "'  a 
gentlewoman,"  and  was  mighty  sharp  with  Becky  the  maid, 
and  poor  Carry,  her  youngest  child. 

For  the  tide  of  affection  had  turned  now,  and  the  "  Misses 
Wellesley  Macarty "  were  the  darlings  of  their  mother's 
heart,  as  Caroline  had  been  in  the  early  days  of  Putney 
prosperity.  Mrs.  Gann  respected  and  loved  her  elder 
daughters,  the  stately  heiresses  of  1,500Z.,  and  scorned  poor 
Caroline,  who  was  likewise  scorned  (like  Cinderella  in  the 
sweetest  of  all  stories)  by  her  brace  of  haughty,  thoughtless 
sisters.  These  young  women  were  tall,  well-grown,  black- 
browed  girls,  little  scrupulous,  fond  of  fun,  and  having  great 
health  and  spirits.  Caroline  was  pale  and  thin,  and  had 
fair  hair  and  meek  gray  eyes ;  nobody  thought  her  a  beauty 
in  her  moping  cotton  gown ;  whereas  the  sisters,  in  flaunted 
printed  muslins,  with  pink  scarfs,  and  artificial  flowers,  and 
hrsiss  fer7'07inie res,  and  other  fal-lals,  were  voted  very  charm- 
ing and  genteel  by  the  Ganns'  circle  of  friends.  They  had 
pink  cheeks,  Avhite  shoulders,  and  many  glossy  curls  stuck 
about  their  shining  foreheads,  as  damp  and  as  black   as 


A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  11 

leeches.  Such  charms,  madam,  cannot  fail  of  having  their 
effect ;  and  it  was  very  lucky  for  Caroline  that  she  did  not 
possess  them,  for  she  might  have  been  rendered  as  vain, 
frivolous,  and  vulgar  as  these  young  ladies  were. 

While  these  enjoyed  their  pleasures  and  tea-parties 
abroad,  it  was  Carry's  usual  fate  to  remain  at  home  and 
help  the  servant  in  the  many  duties  which  were  required  in 
Mrs.  Gann's  establishment.  She  dressed  that  lady  and  her 
sisters,  brought  her  papa  his  tea  in  bed,  kept  the  lodgers' 
bills,  bore  their  scoldings  if  they  were  ladies,  and  sometimes 
gave  a  hand  in  the  kitchen  if  any  extra  pie-crust  or  cookery 
was  required.  At  two  she  made  a  little  toilet  for  dinner, 
and  was  employed  on  numberless  household  darnings  and 
mendings  in  the  long  evenings,  while  her  sisters  giggled 
over  the  jingling  piano,  mamma  sprawled  on  the  sofa,  and 
Gann  was  over  his  glass  at  the  club.  A  weary  lot,  in  sooth, 
was  yours,  poor  little  Caroline !  since  the  days  of  your  in- 
fancy, not  one  hour  of  sunshine,  no  friendship,  no  cheery 
playfellows,  no  mother's  love ;  but  that  being  dead,  the  af- 
fections which  would  have  crept  round  it  withered  and  died 
too.  Only  James  Gann,  of  all  the  household,  had  a  good- 
natured  look  for  her,  and  a  coarse  word  of  kindness ;  nor,  in- 
deed, did  Caroline  complain,  nor  shed  many  tears,  nor  call  for 
death,  as  she  would  if  she  had  been  brought  up  in  genteeler 
circles.  The  poor  thing  did  not  know  her  own  situation ;  her 
misery  was  dumb  and  patient ;  it  is  such  as  thousands  and 
thousands  of  women  in  our  society  bear,  and  pine,  and  die  of; 
made  of  sums  of  small  t3'rannies,  and  long  indifference,  and 
bitter,  wearisome  injustice,  more  dreadful  to  bear  than  any 
tortures  that  we  of  the  stronger  sex  are  pleased  to  cry  u4i! 
M!  about.  In  our  intercourse  with  the  world  —  (which  is 
conducted  with  that  kind  of  cordiality  that  we  see  in  Sir 
Harry  and  my  lady  in  a  comed}^ — a  couple  of  painted,  grin- 
ning fools,  talking  parts  that  they  have  learned  out  of  a 
book),  —  as  we  sit  and  look  at  the  smiling  actors,  we  get  a 
glimpse  behind  the  scenes  from  time  to  time;  and  alas  for 
the  wretched  nature  that  appears  there  !  —  among  women  es- 
pecially, who  deceive  even  more  than  men,  having  more  to 
hide,  feeling  more,  living  more  than  we  who  have  our  busi- 
ness, pleasure,  ambition,  Avhich  carries  us  abroad.  Ours  are 
the  grr^at  strokes  of  misfortune,  as  they  are  called,  and  theirs 
the  small  miseries.  While  the  male  thinks,  labors,  and  bat- 
tles without,  the  domestic  Avoes  and  wrongs  are  the  lot  of 
the  women;  and  the  little  ills  are  so  bad,  so  infinitely  fiercer 


12  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

and  bitterer  than  the  great,  that  I  would  not  change  my 
condition  —  no,  not  to  be  Helen,  Queen  Elizabeth,  j\Irs. 
Coutts,  or  the  luckiest  she  in  history. 

Well,  then,  in  the  manner  we  have  described  lived  the 
Gann  family :  Mr.  Gann  all  the  better  for  his  "  misfortunes," 
Mrs.  Gann  little  the  worse;  the  two  young  ladies  greatly  im- 
proved by  the  circumstance,  having  been  cast  thereby  into 
a  society  where  their  expected  three  thousand  pounds  made 
great  heiresses  of  them ;  and  poor  Caroline,  as  luckless  a 
being  as  any  that  the  wide  sun  shone  upon.  Better  to  be 
alone  in  the  world  and  utterly  friendless,  than  to  have  sham 
friends  and  no  sympathy ;  ties  of  kindred  which  bind  one 
as  it  were  to  the  corpse  of  relationship,  and  oblige  one  to 
bear  through  life  the  weight  and  the  embraces  of  this  life- 
less, cold  connection. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Caroline  would  ever  have  made 
use  of  this  metaphor,  or  suspected  that  her  connection  with 
her  mamma  and  sisters  was  anything  so  loathsome.  She 
felt  that  she  Avas  ill-treated,  and  had  no  companion  ;  but 
was  not  on  that  account  envious,  onl}^  humble  and  depressed, 
not  desiring  so  much  to  resist  as  to  bear  injustice,  and 
hardly  venturing  to  think  for  herself.  This  tyranny  and 
humility  served  her  in  place  of  education,  and  formed  her 
manners,  which  were  wonderfull}^  gentle  and  calm.  It  was 
strange  to  see  such  a  person  growing  up  in  such  a  family ; 
the  neighbors  spoke  of  her  with  much  scornful  compassion. 
"  A  poor  half-witted  thing,"  they  said,  "  who  could  not  say 
bo!  to  a  goose;  "  and  I  think  it  is  one  good  test  of  gentility 
to  be  thus  looked  down  on  by  vulgar  people. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  elder  girls  had  reached 
their  present  age  without  receiving  a  number  of  offers  of 
marriage,  and  been  warmly  in  love  a  great  many  times. 
But  many  unfortunate  occurrences  had  compelled  them  to 
remain  in  their  virgin  condition.  There  was  an  attorney 
who  had  proposed  to  Eosalind ;  but  finding  that  she  would 
receive  only  750/.  down,  instead  of  1,500/.,  the  monster  had 
jilted  her  pitilessly,  handsome  as  she  was.  An  apothecary, 
too,  had  been  smitten  by  her  charms ;  but  to  live  in  a  shop 
was  beneath  the  dignity  of  a  Wellesley  ^Macarty,  and  she 
waited  for  better  things.  Lieutenant  Swabber,  of  the  coast- 
guard service,  had  lodged  two  months  at  Gann's ;  and  if 
letters,  long  walks,  and  town-talk  could  settle  a  match,  a 
match  between  him  and  Isabella  must  have  taken  place. 
Well,   Isabella   was   not   married;   and   the   lieutenant,    a 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  13 

colonel  in  Spain,  seemed  to  have  given  np  all  thoughts  of 
her.  She  meanwhile  consoled  herself  with  a  gay  young 
wine-merchant,  who  had  lately  established  himself  at  Brigh- 
ton, kept  a  gig,  rode  out  with  the  hounds,  and  was  voted 
perfectly  genteel ;  and  there  was  a  certain  French  marquess, 
with  the  most  elegant  black  mustachios,  who  had  made  a 
vast  impression  upon  the  heart  of  Eosalind,  having  met  her 
first  at  the  circulating  librar}^,  and  afterwards,  by  the  most 
extraordinary  series  of  chances,  coming  upon  her  and  her 
sister  daily  in  their  walks  upon  the  pier. 

^leek  little  Caroline,  meanwhile,  trampled  ujjon  though 
she  was,  was  springing  up  to  womanhood  ;  and  though  pale, 
freckled,  thin,  meanly  dressed,  had  a  certain  charm  about 
her  which  some  people  might  prefer  to  the  cheap  splendors 
and  rude  red  and  white  of  the  ]\Iisses  ]\Iacarty.  In  fact  we 
have  now  come  to  a  period  of  her  history  when,  to  the 
amaze  of  her  mamma  and  sisters,  and  not  a  little  to  the 
satisfaction  of  James  Gann,  Esquire,  she  actually  inspired 
a  passion  in  the  breast  of  a  very  respectable  young  man. 


CHAPTEE  II. 


HOW    MRS.    GANN    RECEIVED    TWO    LODGERS. 


T  was  the  winter  season 
when  the  events  recorded 
in  this  history  occurred;  and 
as  at  that  period  not  one 
out  of  a  thousand  lodging- 
houses  in  Margate  are  let, 
i\[rs.  Gann,  who  generally 
submitted  to  occupy  her 
own  first  and  second  floors 
during  this  cheerless  sea- 
son, considered  herself  more 
than  ordinarily  lucky  when 
circumstances  occurred 
which  brought  no  less  than 
two  lodgers  to  her  establish- 
ment. 

She  had  to  thank  her 
daughters  for  the  first  in- 
mate ;  for,  as  these  two  young  ladies  were  walking  one  day 
down  their  own  street,  talking  of  the  joys  of  the  last 
season,  and  the  delight  of  the  raffles  and  singing  at.  the 
libraries,  and  the  intoxicating  pleasures  of  the  Yauxhall 
balls,  they  were  remarked  and  evidently  admired  by  a 
young  gentleman  who  was  sauntering  listlessly  up  the 
street. 

He  stared,  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  fascinating 
girls  stared  too,  and  put  each  other's  head  into  each  other's 
bonnet,  and  giggled  and  said,  "  Lor' !  "  and  then  looked  hard 
at  the  young  gentleman  again.  Their  eyes  were  black, 
their  cheeks  were  very  red.  Fancy  how  Miss  Bella's  and 
Miss  Linda's  hearts  beat  when  tlje  gentleman,  dropping  his 
glass  out  of  his  e3'e,  actually  stepped  across  the  street,  and 
said,  "Ladies,  I  am  seeking  for  lodgings,  and  should  be 
glad  to  look  at  these  which  I  see  are  to  let  in  your  house." 

14 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  15 

"  How  did  the  conjurer  know  it  was  our  house  ?  "  thought 
Bella  and  Linda  (they  always  thought  in  couples).  From 
the  very  simple  fact  that  Miss  Bella  had  just  thrust  into 
the  door  a  latch-key. 

Most  bitterly  did  Mrs.  James  Gann  regret  that  she  had 
not  on  her  best  gown  when  a  stranger  —  a  stranger  in 
February  —  actually  called  to  look  at  the  lodgings.  She 
made  up,  however,  for  the  slovenliness  of  her  dress  by  the 
dignity  of  her  demeanor ;  and  asked  the  gentleman  for 
references,  informed  him  that  she  was  a  gentlewoman,  and 
that  he  would  have  peculiar  advantages  in  her  establish- 
ment; and,  finally,  agreed  to  receive  him  at  the  rate  of 
twenty  shillings  per  week.  The  bright  eyes  of  the  young 
ladies  had  done  the  business  ;  but  to  this  day  Mrs.  James 
Gann  is  convinced  that  her  peculiar  dignity  of  manner,  and 
great  fluency  of  brag  regarding  her  family,  have  been  the 
means  of  bringing  hundreds  of  lodgers  to  her  house,  who 
but  for  her  would  never  have  visited  it. 

"Gents,"  said  Mr.  James  Gann,  at  the  "Bag  of  ISTails'^ 
that  very  evening,  "we  have  got  a  new  lodger,  and  I'll 
stand  glasses  round  to  his  jolly  good  health !" 

The  new  lodger,  who  was  remarkable  for  nothing  except 
very  black  eyes,  a  sallow  face,  and  a  habit  of  smoking  cigars 
in  bed  until  noon,  gave  his  name  George  Brandon,  Esq.  As 
to  his  teniper  and  habits,  when  humbl}^  requested  by  Mrs. 
Gann  to  pay  in  advance,  he  laughed  and  presented  her  with 
a  bank-note,  never  quarrelled  with  a  single  item  in  her  bills, 
walked  much,  and  ate  two  mutton-chops  per  diem.  The 
3' oung  ladies,  who  examined  all  the  boxes  and  letters  of  the 
lodgers,  as  3^oung  ladies  will,  could  not  find  one  single 
document  relative  to  their  new  inmate,  except  a  tavern-bill 
of  the  "  White  Hart,"  to  which  the  name  of  George  Bran- 
don, Esquire,  was  prefixed.  Any  other  papers  which  might 
elucidate  his  history  were  locked  up  in  a  Bramali  box, 
likewise  marked  G.  B. :  and  though  these  were  but  unsatis- 
factory points  by  which  to  judge  a  man's  character,  there 
was  a  something  about  Mr.  Brandon  which  caused  all  the 
ladies  at  ^Mrs.  Gann's  to  vote  he  was  quite  a  gentleman. 

When  this  was  the  case,  I  am  happy  to  say  it  would  not 
unfrequently  happen  that  Miss  Rosalind  or  Miss  Isabella 
would  appear  in  the  lodger's  apartments,  bearing  in  the 
breakfast-cloth,  or  blushingly  appearing  with  the  weekly 
bill,  apologizing  for  mamma's  absence,  "and  hoping  tliat 
everything  was  to  the  gentleman's  liking." 


16  A    SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY. 

Both  the  jNIisses  Wellesley  Macarty  took  occasion  to  visit 
Mr.  Brandon  in  this  manner,  and  he  received  both  with  such 
a  fascinating  ease  and  gentlemanlike  freedom  of  manner, 
scanning  their  points  from  head  to  foot,  and  fixing  his 
great  black  eyes  so  earnestly  on  their  faces,  that  the  blush- 
ing creatures  turned  away  abashed,  and  yet  pleased,  and 
had  mau}^  conversations  about  him. 

"  Law,  Bell,"  said  Miss  Eosalind,  "what  a  chap  that  Bran- 
don is  !  I  don't  half  like  him,  I  do  declare  ! "  Than  which 
there  can  be  no  greater  compliment  from  a  woman  to  a 
man. 

"No  more  do  I  neither,"  says  Bell.  "The  man  stares  so, 
and  says  such  things  !  Just  now,  when  Becky  brought  his 
paper  and  sealing-wax — the  silly  girl  brought  black  and  red 
too  —  I  took  them  up  to  ask  which  he  would  have,  and  what 
do  you  think  he  said  ?  " 

"  Well,  dear,  what  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Gann. 

"  '  Miss  Bell,'  says  he,  looking  at  me,  and  with  such  eyes ! 
'  I'll  keep  everything :  the  red  wax,  because  it's  like  your 
lips ;  the  black  wax,  because  it's  like  your  hair ;  and  the 
satin  paper,  because  it's  like  your  skin!'  Wasn't  it 
genteel  ?  " 

"  Law,  now !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gann. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  think  it's  very  rude  ! "  said  Miss  Lindy  ; 
"  and  if  he'd  said  so  to  me,  I'd  have  slapped  his  face  for  his 
imperence  ! "  And  much  to  her  credit.  Miss  Lindy  Avent  to 
his  room  ten  minutes  after  to  see  if  he  ivoidcl  say  anything 
to  her.  What  Mr.  Brandon  said,  I  never  knew ;  but  the 
little  pang  of  envy  which  had  caused  Miss  Lindy  to  retort 
sharply  upon  her  sister  had  given  place  to  a  pleased  good- 
humor,  and  she  allowed  Bella  to  talk  about  the  new  lodger 
as  much  as  ever  she  liked. 

And  now  if  the  reader  is  anxious  to  know  what  was  Mr. 
Brandon's  character,  he  had  better  read  the  following  letter 
from  him.  It  was  addressed  to  no  less  a  person  than  a  vis- 
count, and  given,  perhaps,  with  some  little  ostentation  to 
Becky,  the  maid,  to  carry  to  the  post.  Now  Becky,  before 
she  executed  such  errands,  always  showed  the  letters  to  her 
mistress  or  one  of  the  young  ladies  (it  must  not  be  supposed 
that  ]\Iiss  Caroline  was  a  whit  less  curious  on  these  matters 
than  her  sisters)  ;  and  when  the  family  beheld  the  name  of 
Lord  Viscount  Cinqbars  upon  the  superscription,  their 
respect  for  their  lodger  was  greater  than  ever  it  had 
been : — 


A    SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  17 

"Margate,  February,  1835. 

"My  dear  Yiscount, — For  a  reason  I  have,  on  coining  down 
to  Margate,  I  with  much  gravity  informed  tlie  people  of  the  *  White 
Hart '  that  my  name  was  lirandon.  and  intend  to  bear  tliat  honorable 
appellation  during  my  stay.  For  the  same  reason  (I  am  a  modest  man, 
ami  love  to  do  good  in  secret),  I  left  the  public  hotel  immediately,  and 
am  now  housed  in  private  lodgings,  humble,  and  at  a  humble  price. 
I  am  here,  thank  heaven,  quite  alone.  Kobinson  Crusoe  had  as  nuich 
society  in  his  island  as  I  in  this  of  Thanet.  In  compensation  I  sieei) 
a  great  deal,  do  nothing,  and  walk  much,  silent,  by  the  side  of  the 
roaring  sea,  like  Calchas,  priest  of  Apollo. 

"  The  fact  is,  that,  until  papa's  wrath  is  appeased,  I  must  live  with 
the  utmost  meekness  and  humility,  and  have  barely  enough  money  in 
my  possession  to  pay  such  small  current  expenses  as  fall  on  me  here, 
where  strangers  are  many  and  credit  does  not  exist.  I  pray  you, 
therefore,  to  tell  Mr.  ^nipson  the  tailor,  Mr.  Jackson  the  bootmaker, 
honest  Solomonson  the  discoimter  of  bills,  and  all  such  friends  in 
London  and  Oxford  as  may  make  inquiries  after  me,  that  I  am  at 
this  very  moment  at  the  city  of  Munich  in  Bavaria,  from  which  I  shall 
not  return  mitil  my  mairiage  with  Miss  Goldmore,  the  great  Indian 
heiress  ;  who,  upon  my  honor,  will  have  me,  I  believe,  any  day  for 
the  asking, 

"'  Nothing  else  will  satisfy  my  honored  father,  I  know,  whose 
purse  has  already  bled  pretty  freely  for  me,  I  nuist  confess,  and  who 
has  taken  the  great  oath  that  never  is  broken,  to  bleed  no  more  unless 
this  marringe  is  brought  about.  Come  it  must.  1  can't  work,  I  can  t 
starve,  and  I  can't  live  under  a  thousand  a  year, 

"  Here,  to  be  sure,  the  c'  arges  are  not  enormous  ;  for  yotir  edifica- 
tion, read  my  week's  bill:  — 

'  George  Brandon,  Esquire, 

*  To  Mrs,  James  Gann. 


A  week's  lodging 

Breakfast,  cream,  eggs     .     .     . 
Dinner  (fourteen  mutton-chops) 
Fire,  boot-cleaning,  &c.  .     .     . 


'Settled,  Juliana  Gann,' 

"  Juliana  Gann !  Is  it  not  a  sweet  name  ?  it  sprawls  over  half  the 
paper.  Could  you  but  see  the  owner  of  the  name,  my  dear  fellow!  I 
love  to  examine  the  customs  of  natives  of  all  countries,  and  upon  ray 
word  there  are  some  barbarians  in  our  own  less  known,  and  more 
worthy  of  being  known,  than  Hottentots,  wild  Irish,  Otaheiteans,  or 
any  such  savages.  If  you  could  see  the  airs  that  this  woman  gives 
herself  ;  the  rouge,  ribbons,  rings,  and  other  female  ginicracks  that 
she  wears;  if  you  could  hear  her  reminiscences  of  past  times,  'when 
she  and  Mr.  Gann  moved  in  the  very  genteelest  circles  of  society;'  of 
tlie  peerage,  which  she  knows  by  heart;  and  of  the  fashionable 
novels,  in  every  word  of  which  she  believes,  you  would  be  proud  of 
VOL.   I,  — 2 


£    s. 

d. 

1      0 

0 

0     9 

0 

0   10 

6 

0     3 

6 

£'2     3 

0 

18  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

your  order,  and  admire  the  intense  respect  wliich  the  canaille  show 
towards  it.  There  never  was  such  an  olJ  woman,  not  even  our  tutor 
at  Christchurch. 

"There  is  a  he  Gann,  a  vast,  bloated  old  man,  in  a  rougTi  coat,  "who 
has  met  me  once,  and  asked  me,  with  a  grin,  if  my  mutton-chops 
was  to  my  liking?  The  satirical  monster!  What  can  1  eat  in  this 
place  but  mutton-chops?  A  great  bleeding  beefsteak,  or  a  filthy, 
reeking  f/igot  a  Ueau,  with  a  turnip  poultice  ?  I  should  die  if  I  did. 
As  for  fish  in  a  watering-place,  I  never  touch  it;  it  is  sure  to  be  bad. 
Kor  care  I  for  little  sinewy,  dry,  black-legged  fowls.  Cutlets  are  my 
only  resource;  1  have  them  nicely  enough  broiled  by  a  little  humble 
companion  of  the  family  (a  companion,  ye  gods,  in  this  family!)  who 
blushed  hugely  when  she  confessed  that  the  cooking  was  hers,  and 
that  her  name  was  Caroline.  For  drink  I  indulge  in  gin,  of  which  T 
consume  two  wine-glasses  daily,  in  two  tumblers  of  cold  "vvater;  it  is 
the  only  liquor  that  one  can  be  sure  to  find  genuine  in  a  common  house 
in  England. 

"  Tliis  Gann,  I  take  it.  has  similar  likings,  for  I  hear  him  occasion- 
ally at  midnight  floundering  up  the  stairs  (his  boots  lie  dirty  in  the 
passage) — floundering,  I  say,  up  the  stairs,  and  cursing  the  candle- 
stick, whence  escape  now  and  anon  the  snuffers  and  extinguisher,  and 
with  brazen  rattle  disturb  the  silence  of  the  night.  Thrice  a  week, 
at  least,  does  Gann  breakfast  in  bed  —  sure  sign  of  pridian  intoxi- 
cation ;  and  thrice  a  Aveek,  in  tlie  morning,  I  hear  a  hoarse  voice 
roaring  for  '  my  soda-water.'  How  long  have  the  rogues  drunk  soda- 
water  ? 

"  At  nine,  Mrs.  Gann  and  daughters  are  accustomed  to  breakfast; 
a  handsome  pair  of  girls,  truly,  and  much  followed,  as  1  hear,  in  the 
quarter.  These  dear  creatures  are  always  paying  me  visits  —  visits 
Avith  the  tea-kettle,  visits  with  the  newspaper  (one  brings  it,  and  one 
comes  for  it);  but  the  one  is  always  at  the  other's  heels,  and  so  one 
cannot  s^'ow  one's  se'f  to  be  that  dear,  gay  seducing  fellow  that  one  has 
been,  at  home  and  on  the  Continent.  i)o  you  rememher  cette  chere 
niarc/uise  at  Pau  ?  That  cursed  conjugal  pistol-bullet  still  plays  the 
deuce  with  my  .-boulder.  Do  you  remember  Betty  liundy,  the  butchers 
daughter  ?  A  pretty  race  of  fools  are  we  to  go  mad  after  such  women, 
and  risk  all  —  oaths,  prayers,  i^romises,  long  wearisome  courtships  — 
for  what?  —  for  vanity,  truly.  When  the  battle  is  over,  behold  your 
conquest  !  Betty  Bundy  is  a  vulgar  country  wench;  and  cette  belle 
marquise  is  old,  rouged,  and  has  false  hair.  Vanitas  vanilatumi 
what  a  moral  man  I  will  be  some  day  or  other  ! 

"I  have  found  an  old  acquaintance  (and  be  hanged  to  him  !)  who 
has  come  to  lodge  in  this  very  house.  Do  you  recollect  at  Kome  a 
young  artist.  Fitch  by  name,  the  handsome  gaby  with  the  huge  beard, 
that  mad  Mrs.  Carrickfergus  was  doubly  mad  about  !  On  the  second 
floor  of  Mrs.  Gann's  house  dwells  this  youth.  His  beard  brings  the 
(jamins  of  the  streets  trooping  and  yelling  about  him;  his  fine  braided 
coats  have  grown  somewhat  shabby  now;  and  the  poor  fellow  is,  like 
your  humble  servant  (by  the  way,  have  you  a  ."iOO  franc  billet  to  spare  ?j 
—  like  your  humble  servant,  I  say,  very  low  in  pocket.  The  young 
Andrea  bears  up  gayly,  however;  twangles  his  guitar,  paints  the  worst 
pictiu'cs  in  the  Morld,  and  pens  sonnets  to  his  imaginary  mistress's 
eyebrow.  liUckily  the  rogue  did  not  know  my  name,  or  1  should  have 
been  compelled  to  unbosom  to  him;  ami  when  J  called  out  to  hiiu, 
dubious  as  to  niy  name,  'Don't  you  know  me  ?    I  met  you  in  Home. 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  19 

My  name  is  Brandon,'  the  painter  was  perfectly  satisfied,  and  majes- 
tically bade  me  welcome. 

"  Fancy  the  continence  of  this  young  Joseph  —  he  has  absolutely 
run  away  from  Mrs.  Carrickfergus  !  '  !Sir,'  said  he,  with  some  hesita- 
tion and  blushes,  when  I  questioned  liim  about  the  widow,  '  1  was 
compelled  to  leave  Eonie  in  consequence  of  tlie  fatal  fondness  of  that 
woman.  I  am  an  'andsome  man,  sir,  —  I  know  it  —  all  the  chaps  in 
the  Academy  want  me  for  a  model;  and  that  woman,  sir,  is  sixty.  Do 
you  think  I  would  ally  myself  with  her;  sacrifice  my  happiness  for  the 
sake  of  a  creature  that's  as  hugly  as  an  'arpy  ?  I'd  rather  starve,  sir. 
I'd  rather  give  up  my  hart  and  my  'opes  of  rising  in  it  than  do  a  hac- 
tion  so  dis/i/ii/< /honorable.' 

"There  is  a  stock  of  virtue  for  you!  and  the  poor  fellow  half- 
starved.  He  lived  at  Rome  upon  the  seven  portraits  that  the  Carrick- 
fergus ordered  of  him,  and,  as  1  fancy,  now  does  not  make  twenty 
pounds  in  the  year.  O  rare  chastity!  O  wondrous  silly  hopes!  O 
niotns  aniinoruiii,  atque  O  certanilna  tanta  ! — pulveris  exi'/iii  jactu, 
in  such  an  insignificant  little  lump  of  mud  as  this!  Why  the  deuce 
does  not  the  fool  marry  the  widow?  His  betters  would.  There  w^as 
a  captain  of  dragoons,  an  Italian  prince,  and  four  sons  of  Irisii  peers, 
all  at  her  feet;  but  the  cockney's  beard  and  whiskers  have  overcome 
them  all.  Here  my  paper  has  come  to  an  end;  and  1  have  the  honor 
to  bid  your  lordship  a  respectful  farewell.  G.  B." 

Of  the  young  gentleman  who  goes  by  the  name  of 
Brandon,  the  reader  of  the  above  letter  will  not  be  so  mis- 
guided, we  trust,  as  to  have  a  very  exalted  opinion.  The 
noble  viscount  read  this  document  to  a  supper-party  in 
Christchurch,  in  Oxford,  and  left  it  in  a  bowl  of  milk- 
punch,  whence  a  scout  abstracted  it,  and  handed  it  over  to 
us.  My  lord  was  twenty  years  of  age  when  he  received 
the  epistle,  and  had  spent  a  couple  of  years  abroad,  before 
going  to  the  university,  under  the  guardianship  of  the 
worthy  individual  who  called  himself  George  Brandon. 

Mr.  Brandon  was  the  son  of  a  half-pay  colonel,  of  good 
family,  who,  honoring  the  great  himself,  thought  his  son 
would  vastly  benefit  by  an  acquaintance  with  them,  and 
sent  him  to  Eton,  at  cruel  charges  upon  a  slender  purse. 
From  Eton  the  lad  went  to  Oxford,  took  honors  there, 
frequented  the  best  society,  followed  with  a  kind  of 
proud  obsequiousness  all  the  tufts  of  the  university,  and 
left  it  owing  exactly  t\vo  thousand  pounds.  Then  there 
came  storms  at  home,  fury  on  the  part  of  the  stern  old 
"governor,"  and  final  payment  of  the  debt.  But  while 
this  settlement  was  pending.  Master  George  had  contracted 
many  more  debts  among  bill-discounters,  and  was  glad  to 
fly  to  the  Continent  as  tutor  to  young  Lord  Cinqbars,  in 
whose  company  he  learned  every  one  of  the  vices  in 
Europe ;  and  having  a  good  natural  genius,  and  a  heart  not 


20  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

unkindly,  had  used  these  qualities  in  such  an  admirable 
manner  as  to  be  at  twenty-seven  utterly  ruined  in  purse  and 
principle  —  an  idler,  a  spendthrift,  and  a  glutton.  He  was 
free  of  his  money;  would  spend  his  last  guinea  for  a 
sensual  gratification ;  would  borrow  from  his  neediest 
friend ;  had  no  kind  of  conscience  or  remorse  left,  but 
believed  himself  to  be  a  good-natured  devil-may-care 
fellow ;  had  a  good  deal  of  wit,  and  indisputably  good 
manners,  and  a  pleasing,  dashing  frankness  in  conversation 
with  men.  I  should  like  to  know  how  many  such  scoun- 
drels our  universities  have  turned  out,  and  how  much 
ruin  has  been  caused  by  that  accursed  system  which  is 
called  in  England  "  the  education  of  a  gentleman."  Go, 
my  son,  for  ten  years  to  a  public  school,  that  "world  in 
miniature";  learn  "to  fight  for  yourself"  against  the  time 
when  your  real  struggles  shall  begin.  Begin  to  be  selfish 
at  ten  years  of  age  ;  study  for  other  ten  years ;  get  a 
competent  knowledge  of  boxing,  swimming,  rowing,  and 
cricket,  with  a  pretty  knack  of  Latin  hexameters  and  a 
decent  smattering  of  Greek  plays,  —  do  this  and  a  fond 
father  shall  bless  you  —  bless  the  two  thousand  pounds 
which  he  has  spent  in  acquiring  all  these  benefits  for  you. 
And,  besides,  what  else  have  you  not  learned  ?  You  have 
been  many  hundreds  of  times  to  chapel,  and  have  learned 
to  consider  the  religious  service  performed  there  as  the 
vainest  parade  in  the  world.  If  your  father  is  a  grocer, 
you  have  been  beaten  for  his  sake,  and  have  learned  to  be 
ashamed  of  him.  You  have  learned  to  forget  (as  how 
should  you  remember,  being  separated  from  them  for  three- 
fourths  of  your  time  ?)  the  ties  and  natural  affections  of 
home.  You  have  learned,  if  you  have  a  kindly  heart  and 
an  open  hand,  to  compete  with  associates  much  more 
wealthy  than  yourself,  and  to  consider  money  as  not  much, 
but  honor  —  the  honor  of  dining  and  consorting  with  your 
betters  —  as  a  great  deal.  All  this  does  the  public-school 
and  college  boy  learn ;  and  woe  be  to  his  knowledge ! 
Alas,  what  natural  tenderness  and  kindly  clinging  filial 
affection  is  he  taught  to  trample  on  and  despise !  My 
friend  Brandon  had  gone  through  this  process  of  education, 
and  had  been  irretrievably  ruined  by  it  —  his  heart  and  his 
honesty  had  been  ruined  by  it,  that  is  to  say  ;  and  he  had 
received,  in  return  for  them,  a  small  quantity  of  classics 
and  mathematics —  pretty  compensation  for  all  he  had  lost 
in  gaining  them  I 


A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  21 

But  I  am  wandering  most  absurdly  from  the  point ;  riglit 
or  wrong,  so  nature  and  education  had  formed  Mr.  Brandon, 
who  is  one  of  a  considerable  class.  Well,  this  young 
gentleman  was  established  at  Mrs.  Gann's  house ;  and  we 
are  obliged  to  enter  into  all  these  explanations  concerning 
him,  because  they  are  necessary  to  the  right  understanding 
of  our  story — Brandon  not  being  altogether  a  bad  man, 
nor  much  worse  than  many  a  one  who  goes  through  a 
course  of  regular  selhsh  swindling  all  his  life  long,  and 
dies  religious,  resigned,  proud  of  himself,  and  universally 
respected  by  others ;  for  this  eminent  advantage  has  the 
getting-and-keeping  scoundrel  over  the  extravagant  and 
careless  one. 

One  day,  then,  as  he  was  gazing  from  the  window  of  his 
lodging-house,  a  cart,  containing  a  vast  number  of  easels, 
portfolios,  wooden  cases  of  pictures,  and  a  small  carpet-bag 
that  might  hold  a  change  of  clothes,  stopped  at  the  door. 
The  vehicle  was  accompanied  by  a  remarkable  young  fellow 
—  dressed  in  a  frock-coat  covered  over  with  frogs,  a  dirty 
turned-down  shirt-collar,  with  a  blue  satin  cravat,  and  a  cap 
placed  wonderfully  on  one  ear  —  who  had  evidently  hired 
apartments  at  JMr.  Gann's.  This  new  lodger  was  no  other 
than  ]\Ir.  Andrew  Fitch ;  or,  as  he  wrote  on  his  cards,  with- 
out the  prehx,  — 


Andrea  Fitch. 


Preparations  had  been  made  at  Gann's  for  the  reception 
of  Mr.  Fitch,  whose  aunt  (an  auctioneer's  lady  in  the  town) 
had  made  arrangements  that  he  should  board  and  lodge 
with  the  Gann  family,  and  have  the  apartments  on  the 
second  floor  as  his  private  rooms.  In  these,  then,  young 
Andrea  was  installed.  He  was  a  youth  of  a  poetic  tempera- 
ment, loving  solitude ;  and  where  is  such  to  be  found  more 
easily  than  on  the  storm-washed  shores  of  Margate  in 
winter  ?  Then  the  boarding-house  keepers  have  shut  up 
their  houses  and  gone  away  in  anguish  ;  then  the  taverns 
take  their  carpets  i\\),  and  you  can  have  your  choice  of  a 
hundred  and  twent}'  tjeds  in  any  one  of  them ;  then  but  one 
dismal  waiter  remains  to  su|)erintend  this  vast  echoing  pile 
of  loneliness,  and  the  landlord  pines  for  summer  ;  then  the 


22  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

flies  for  Eamsgate  stand  tenantless  beside  the  pier ;  and 
about  four  sailors,  in  pea-jackets,  are  to  be  seen  in  the 
three  principal  streets ;  in  the  rest,  silence,  closed  shutters, 
torpid  chimneys  enjoying  their  unnatural  winter  sinecure 
—  not  the  clack  of  a  patten  echoing  over  the  cold  dry 
flags ! 

This  solitude  had  been  chosen  by  Mr.  Brandon  for  good 
reasons  of  his  own ;  Gann  and  his  family  would  have  fled, 
but  that  they  had  no  other  house  wherein  to  take  refuge ; 
and  Mrs.  Hammerton,  the  auctioneer's  lady,  felt  so  keenly 
the  kindness  which  she  was  doing  to  Mrs.  Gann,  in  providing 
her  with  a  lodger  at  such  a  period,  that  she  considered  her- 
self fully  justified  in  extracting  from  the  latter  a  bonus  of 
two  guineas,  threatening  on  refusal  to  send  her  darling 
nephew  to  a  rival  establishment  over  the  way. 

Andrea  was  here  then,  in  the  loneliness  that  he  loved,  — 
a  fantastic  youth,  who  lived  but  for  his  art ;  to  whom  the 
world  was  like  the  Coburg  Theatre,  and  he  in  a  magnificent 
costume  acting  a  principal  part.  His  art,  and  his  beard  and 
whiskers,  were  the  darlings  of  his  heart.  His  long  pale 
hair  fell  over  a  high  polished  brow,  which  looked  wonder- 
fully thoughtful;  and  yet  no  man  was  more  guiltless  of 
thinking.  He  was  always  putting  himself  into  attitudes  ; 
he  never  spoke  the  truth ;  and  was  so  entirely  affected  and 
absurd  as  to  be  quite  honest  at  last:  for  it  is  my  belief 
that  the  man  did  not  know  truth  from  falsehood  any 
longer,  and  was,  when  he  was  alone,  when  he  was  in 
company,  nay,  when  he  was  unconscious  and  sound  asleep 
snoring  in  bed,  one  complete  lump  of  affectation.  AVhen 
his  apartments  on  the  second  floor  were  arranged  accord- 
ing to  his  fancy,  they  made  a  tremendous  show.  He  had  a 
large  Gothic  chest,  in  which  he  put  his  wardrobe  (namely, 
two  velvet  w^aistcoats,  four  varied  satin  under  ditto,  two 
pairs  braided  trousers,  two  shirts,  half  a  dozen  false  collars, 
and  a  couple  of  pairs  of  dreadfully  dilapidated  Blucher 
boots).  He  had  some  pieces  of  armor;  some  China  jugs 
and  Venetian  glasses;  some  bits  of  old  damask  rags,  to 
drape  his  doors  and  windows,  and  a  rickety  lay  figure,  in 
a  Spanish  hat  and  cloak,  over  which  slung  a  long  Toledo 
rapier,  and  a  guitar,  Avith  a  ribbon  of  dirty  sky-blue. 

Such  was  our  poor  fellow's  stock  in  trade.  He  had  some 
volumes  of  poems  —  "  Lalla  Eookh,"  and  the  sterner  com- 
positiois  of  Byron;  for,  to  do  him  justice,  he  hated  "Don 
Juan,"  and  a  woman  was  in  his  eyes  an  angel ;  a  /tangel, 


A    SHABBY  GEXTEEL   STORY.  2:i 

alas  !  he  would  call  her.  for  nature  and  the  circumstances 
of  his  family  had  taken  sad  cockney  advantages  over 
Andrea's  pronunciation. 

The  Misses  Wellesley  Macarty  were  not,  however,  very 
squeamish  with  regard  to  grammar,  and,  in  tJiis  dull  season, 
voted  ]\Ir-  Fitch  an  elegant  young  fellow.  His  immense 
beard  and  whiskers  gave  them  the  highest  opinion  of  his 
genius ;  and  before  long  the  intimac}^  between  the  young 
people  was  considerable,  for  INlr.  Fitch  insisted  upon  draw- 
ing the  portraits  of  the  whole  family.  He  painted  Mrs. 
Gann  in  her  rouge  and  ribbons,  as  described  by  Mr. 
Brandon ;  Mr.  Gann,  who  said  that  his  picture  would  be 
very  useful  to  the  artist,  as  every  soul  in  Margate  knew 
him;  and  the  blisses  Macarty  (a  neat  group,  representing 
Miss  Bella  embracing  Miss  Linda,  who  was  pointing  to  a 
pianoforte). 

"  I  suppose  you'll  do  my  Carry  next  ?  "  said  Mr.  Gann, 
expressing  his  approbation  of  the  last  picture. 

"  Law,  sir,"  said  ]\Iiss  Linda,  '•  Carry,  with  her  red  hair  I 
—  it  would  be  ojus.^' 

''  ^Ir.  Fitch  might-  as  well  i:)aint  Becky,  our  maid,"  said 
Miss  Bella. 

"Carry  is  quite  impossible,  Gann,"  said  'Mrs.  Gann  ;  '-she 
hasn't  a  gown  tit  to  be  seen  in.  She's  not  been  at  church 
for  thirteen  Sundays  in  consequence." 

"  And  more  shame  for  you,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Gann,  who 
liked  his  child;  "Carry  shall  have  a  gown,  and  the  best  of 
gowns."  And  jingling  three  and  twenty  shillings  in  his 
pocket,  Mr.  Gann  determined  to  spend  them  all  in  the 
purchase  of  a  robe  for  Carry.  But  alas,  the  gown  never 
came  ;  half  the  money  Avas  spent  that  very  evening  at  the 
"Bag  of  Xails." 

"Is  that  —  that  j^oung  lady  your  daughter?"  said  Mr. 
Fitch,  surprised-,  for  he  fancied  Carry  was  a  humble  com- 
panion of  the  family. 

"Yes,  she  is,  and  a  very  good  daughter,  too,  sir,"  an- 
swered Mr.  Gann.  "  Fetch  and  Carry  I  call  her,  or  else 
Carryvan  —  she's  so  useful.     Ain't  you.  Carry  ?  " 

"  I'm  very  glad  if  I  am,  papa,"  said  tlie  young  lady,  who 
was  blushing  violently,  and  in  whose  presence  all  this  con- 
versation had  been  carried  on. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  miss,"  said  her  mother  ;  "  you  are 
very  expensive  to  us,  that  you  are,  and  need  not  brag  about 
the  work  you  do.     You  would  not  live  on  charity,  would 


24  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

you,  like  some  folks  ?  "  (here  she  looked  fiercely  at  Mr. 
Gaim)  ;  "  and  if  your  sisters  and  me  starve  to  keep  you 
and  some  folks,  I  presume  you  are  bound  to  make  us  some 
return." 

When  any  allusion  was  made  to  Mr.  Gann's  idleness  and 
extravagance,  or  his  lady  showed  herself  in  any  way 
inclined  to  be  angry,  it  was  honest  James's  habit  not  to 
answer,  but  to  take  his  hat  and  walk  abroad  to  the  public 
house  ;  or  if  haply  she  scolded  him  at  night,  he  would  turn 
his  back  and  fall  a-snoring.  These  were  the  only  remedies 
he  found  for  Mrs.  James's  bad  temper,  and  the  first  of 
them  he  adoj^ted  on  hearing  these  words  of  his  lady, 
which  we  have  just  now  transcribed. 

Poor  Caroline  had  not  her  father's  refuge  of  flight,  but 
was  obliged  to  stay  and  listen ;  and  a  wondrous  eloquence, 
God  wot !  had  Mrs.  Gann  upon  the  subject  of  her  daugh- 
ter's ill-conduct.  The  first  lecture  Mr.  Fitch  heard,  he  set 
down  Caroline  for  a  monster.  Was  she  not  idle,  sulky, 
scornful,  and  a  sloven  ?  For  these  and  many  more  of  her 
daughter's  vices  Mrs.  Gann  vouched,  declaring  that  Caro- 
line's misbehavior  was  hastening  her  own  death,  and  finish- 
ing b}^  a  fainting-fit.  In  the  presence  of  all  these  charges, 
there  stood  Miss  Caroline,  dumb,  stupid,  and  careless ;  nay, 
when  the  fainting-fit  came  on,  and  Mrs.  Gann  fell  back  on 
the  sofa,  the  unfeeling  girl  took  the  opj^ortunity  to  retire, 
and  never  offered  to  smack  her  mamma's  hands,  to  give  her 
the  smelling-bottle,  or  to  restore  her  with  a  glass  of  water. 

One  stood  close  at  hand ;  for  Mr.  Fitch,  when  this  first 
fit  occurred,  was  sitting  in  the  Gann  parlor,  painting  that 
lady's  portrait ;  and  he  was  making  towards  her  with  his 
tumbler,  when  Miss  Linda  cried  out,  "  Stop !  the  Avater's 
full  of  paint ; "  and  straightway  burst  out  laughing.  Mrs. 
Gann  jumped  up  at  this,  cured  suddenly,  and  left  the 
room,  looking  somewhat  foolish. 

"  You  don't  know  Ma,"  said  Miss  Linda,  still  giggling ; 
"  she's  always  fainting." 

"  Poor  thing  !  "  cried  Fitch  ;  "  very  nervous,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Oh,  very  ! "  answered  the  lady,  exchanging  arch  glances 
with  Miss  Bella. 

"Poor  dear  lady!"  continued  the  artist;  "I  pity  her 
from  my  hinmost  soul.  Doesn't  the  himmortal  bard  of 
Havon  observe,  how  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth  it  is  to 
have  a  thankless  child  ?  And  is  it  true,  ma' am, that  that 
young  woman  has  been  the  ruin  of  her  family  ?  " 


A    i^HABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  25 

"  Ellin  of  her  fiddlestick  !  "  replied  Miss  Bella.  "  Law, 
Mr.  Fitch,  you  don't  know  Ma  3'et :  she  is  in  one  of  her 
tantrums." 

"What,  then,  it  isjiH  true?"  cried  simple-minded  Fitch. 
To  which  neither  of  the  young  ladies  made  any  answer  in 
words,  nor  could  the  little  artist  comprehend  why  they 
looked  at  each  other,  and  burst  out  laughing.  But  he 
retired  pondering  on  what  he  had  seen  and  heard;  and 
being  a  very  soft  young  fellow,  most  implicitly  believed 
the  accusations  of  poor  dear  Mrs.  Gann,  and  thought  her 
daughter  Caroline  was  no  better  than  a  Began  or  a  Goneril. 

A  time,  however,  was  to  come  when  he  should  believe 
her  to  be  a  most  pure  and  gentle  Cordelia ;  and  of  this 
change  in  Fitch's  opinions  we  shall  speak  in  Chapter  III. 


CHAPTER   III. 

A.    SHABBY    GENTEEL    DINNER,    AND    OTHER     INCIDENTS    OF    A 
LIKE    NATURE. 


R.  BRANDON'S  letter  to 
Lord  Cinqbars  produced;, 
as  we  have  said,  a  great 
impression  upon  the  fam- 
ily of  Gann  ;  an  impression 
which  was  considerably  in- 
creased by  their  lodger's 
subsequent  behavior ;  for 
although  the  persons  with 
whom  he  now  associated 
were  of  a  very  vulgar,  ri- 
diculous kind,  they  were 
by  no  means  so  low  or 
ridiculous  that  Mr.  Bran- 
don should  not  wish  to 
appear  before  them  in  the 
most  advantageous  light ; 
and,  accordingly,  he  gave 
himself  the  greatest  airs  when  in  their  company,  and 
bragged  incessantly  of  his  acquaintance  and  familiarity 
with  the  nobility.  Mr.  Brandon  was  a  tuft-hunter  of  the 
genteel  sort ;  his  pride  in  being  quite  as  slavish,  and  his 
haughtiness  as  mean  and  cringing,  in  fact,  as  poor  Mrs. 
Gann's  stupid  wonder  and  respect  for  all  the  persons  whose 
names  are  written  with  titles  before  them.  O  free  and 
happy  Britons,  what  a  miserable,  truckling,  cringing  race 
ye  are ! 

The  reader  has  no  doubt  encountered  a  number  of  such 
swaggerers  in  the  course  of  his  conversation  with  the  world 
—  men  of  a  decent  middle  rank,  who  affect  to  despise  it, 
and  herd  only  with  persons  of  the  fashion.  This  is  an 
offence  in  a  man  which  none  of  us  can  forgive ;  we  call 
him  tuft-hunter,  lickspittle,  sneak,  unmanly ;  we  hate,  and 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  27 

profess  to  despise  him.  I  fear  it  is  no  such  thing.  AVe 
env}'  Lickspittle,  that  is  the  fact ;  and  therefore  hate  him. 
Were  he  to  phigue  us  with  the  stories  of  Jones  and  Brown, 
our  familiars,  the  man  would  be  a  simple  bore,  his  stories 
heard  patiently ;  but  so  soon  as  he  talks  of  my  lord  or  the 
duke,  we  are  in  arms  against  him.  I  have  seen  a  whole 
merry  party  in  Russell  Square  grow  suddenly  gloomy  and 
dumb  because  a  pert  barrister,  in  a  loud,  shrill  voice,  told 
a  story  of  Lord  This  or  the  Marquis  of  That.  We  all 
hated  that  man ;  and  I  woidd  lay  a  wager  that  every  one 
of  the  fourteen  persons  assembled  round  the  boiled  turkey 
and  saddle  of  mutton  (not  to  mention  side-dishes  from  the 
pastry-cook's  opposite  the  British  Museum  I  —  I  would 
wager,  I  say,  that  every  one  was  muttering  inwardly,  "  A 
plague  on  that  fellow  !  he  knows  a  lord,  and  I  never  spoke 
to  more  than  three  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life."  To 
our  betters  we  can  reconcile  ourselves,  if  j'ou  please, 
respecting  them  very  sincerely,  laughing  at  their  jokes, 
making  allowance  for  their  stupidities,  meekly  suffering 
their  insolence ;  but  we  can't  pardon  our  equals  going 
beyond  us.  A  friend  of  mine  who  lived  amicably  and 
happily  among  his  friends  and  relatives  at  Hackney,  was 
on  a  sudden  disowned  by  the  latter,  cut  by  the  former,  and 
doomed  in  innumerable  prophecies  to  ruin,  because  he 
kept  a  footboy,  —  a  harmless  little  blowsy-faced  urchin,  in 
light  snuff -colored  clothes,  ghstering  over  with  sugar-loaf 
buttons.  There  is  another  man,  a  great  man,  a  literary 
man,  whom  the  public  loves,  and  who  took  a  sudden  leap 
from  obscurity  into  fame  and  wealth.  This  was  a  crime ; 
but  he  bore  his  rise  with  so  much  modesty  that  even  his 
brethren  of  the  pen  did  not  envy  him.  One  luckless  day 
he  set  up  a  one-horse  chaise;  from  that  minute  he  was 
doomed. 

"  Have  you  seen  his  new  carriage  ?  "  says  Snarley. 

"  Yes,"  says  Yow :  "  he's  so  consumedly  proud  of  it  that 
he  can't  see  his  old  friends  while  he  drives." 

'•  Ith  it  a  donkey-cart,"  lisps  Simper,  "  thith  gwand  caw- 
wiage  ?  I  always  thaid  that  the  man,  from  hith  thtyle, 
wath  fitted  to  be^  a  vewy  dethent  cothtermonger." 

"Yes,  yes,"  cries  old  Candor,  "a  sad  pity  indeed  !^ — 
dreadfully  extravagant,  I'm  told  —  bad  health  —  expensive 
family  —  works  going  down  everyday — and  now  he  must 
set  up  a  carriage  forsooth  !  " 

Snarley,  Yow,  Simper,  Candor  hate  their  brother.     If  he 


28  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

is  ruined,  they  will  be  kind  to  him  and  just ;  but  he  is  suc- 
cessful, and  woe  be  to  him  ! 

This  trifling  digression  of  half  a  page  or  so,  although  it 
seems  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  story  on  hand,  has, 
nevertheless,  the  strongest  relation  to  it ;  and  you  shall 
hear  what. 

In  one  word,  then,  Mr.  Brandon  bragged  so  much,  and 
assumed  such  airs  of  superiority,  that  after  a  while  he  per- 
fectly disgusted  Mrs.  Gann  and  the  Misses  ]\Iacarty,  who 
were  gentlefolks  themselves,  and  did  not  at  all  like  his 
way  of  telling  them  that  he  was  their  better.  Mr.  Fitch 
was  swallowed  up  in  his  hart,  as  he  called  it,  and 
cared  nothing  for  Brandon's  airs.  Gann,  being  a  low- 
spirited  fellow,  completely  submitted  to  Mr.  Brandon, 
and  looked  up  to  him  with  deepest  wonder.  And  poor 
little  Caroline  followed  her  father's  faith,  and  in  six  weeks 
after  Mr.  Brandon's  arrival  at  the  lodgings  had  grown  to 
believe  him  the  most  perfect,  finished,  polished,  agreeable 
of  mankind.  Indeed,  the  poor  girl  had  never  seen  a  gen- 
tleman before,  and  towards  such  her  gentle  heart  turned 
instinctively.  Brandon  never  offended  her  by  hard  words, 
insulted  her  by  cruel  scorn,  such  as  she  met  with  from  her 
mother  and  sisters  ;  there  was  a  quiet  manner  about  the  man 
quite  different  from  any  that  she  had  before  seen  amongst 
the  acquaintances  of  her  family  ;  and  if  he  assumed  a  tone 
of  superiority  in  his  conversation  with  her  and  the  rest, 
Caroline  felt  that  he  ivas  their  superior,  and  as  such  ad- 
mired and  respected  him. 

What  happens  when  in  the  innocent  bosom  of  a  girl  of 
sixteen  such  sensations  arise  ?  What  has  happened  ever 
since  the  world  began  ? 

I  have  said  that  Miss  Caroline  had  no  friend  in  the  world 
but  her  father,  and  must  here  take  leave  to  recall  that 
assertion ;  —  a  friend  she  most  certainly  had,  and  that  was 
honest  Becky,  the  smutty  maid,  whose  name  has  been  men- 
tioned before.  Miss  Caroline  had  learned,  in  the  course  of 
a  life  spent  under  the  tyranny  of  her  mamma,  some  of  the 
notions  of  the  latter,  and  would  have  been  very  much 
offended  to  call  Becky  her  friend :  but  friends,  in  fact, 
they  were  ;  and  a  great  comfort  it  was  for  Caroline  to 
descend  to  the  calm  kitchen  from  the  stormy  back-parlor, 
and  there  vent  some  of  her  little  woes  to  the  compassion- 
ate servant  of  all  work. 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  29 

When  Mrs.  Gann  went  out  with  her  daughters,  Becky 
would  take  her  work  and  come  and  keep  INliss  Caroline  com- 
pany; and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  the  greatest  enjoy- 
ment the  pair  used  to  have  was  in  these  afternoons,  when 
they  read  together  out  of  the  precious  greasy,  marble-covered 
volumes  that  Mrs.  Gann  was  in  the  habit  of  fetching  from 
the  library.  Many  and  many  a  tale  had  the  pair  so  gone 
through.  I  can  see  them  over  "jNIanfrone;  or  the  One- 
HandedMonk" — the  room  dark,  the  street  silent,  the  hour 
ten — the  tall,  red,  lurid  candlewick  waggling  down,  the 
flame  flickering  pale  upon  Miss  Caroline's  pale  face  as  she 
read  out,  and  lighting  up  honest  Becky's  goggling  eyes,  who 
sat  silent,  her  work  in  her  lap  :  she  had  not  done  a  stitch  of 
it  for  an  hour.  As  the  trap-door  slowly  opens,  and  the  scowl- 
ing Alonzo,  bending  over  the  sleeping  Imoinda,  draws  his 
pistol,  cocks  it,  looks  well  if  the  priming  be  right,  places  it 
then  to  the  sleeper's  ear,  and  —  tliunder-under-under —  down 
fall  the  snuffers  !  Becky  has  had  them  in  her  hand  for  ten 
minutes,  afraid  to  use  them.  Up  starts  Caroline,  and  flings 
the  book  back  into  mamma's  basket.  It  is  that  lady  re- 
turned with  her  daughters  from  a  tea-party,  where  two  young 
gents  from  London  have  been  mighty  genteel  indeed. 

For  the  sentimental  too,  as  well  as  tor  the  terrible.  Miss 
Caroline  and  the  cook  had  a  strong  predilection,  and  had 
wept  their  poor  eyes  out  over  "  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw  "  and 
the  "  Scottish  Chiefs."  Fortified  by  the  examples  drawn 
from  those  instructive  volumes,  Becky  was  firmly  convinced 
that  her  young  mistress  would  meet  with  a  great  lord  some 
day  or  other,  or  be  carried  off,  like  Cinderella,  by  a  brilliant 
prince,  to  the  mortification  of  her  elder  sisters,  whom 
Becky  hated.  And  when,  therefore,  the  new  lodger  came, 
lonely,  mysterious,  melancholy,  elegant,  with  the  romantic 
name  of  George  Brandon  —  when  he  wrote  a  letter  directed 
to  a  lord,  and  Miss  Caroline  and  Becky  together  examined 
the  superscription,  such  a  look  passed  between  them  as  the 
pencil  of  Leslie  or  Maclise  could  alone  describe  for  us. 
Becky's  orbs  were  lighted  up  with  a  preternatural  look  of 
wondering  wisdom ;  whereas,  after  an  instant,  Caroline 
dropped  hers,  and  blushed,  and  said,  "N^onsense,  Becky!"    , 

•'  Is  it  nonsense  ?  "  said  Becky,  grinning,  and  snapping  her 
fingers  with  a  triumphant  air;  "'the  cards  comes  true;  T 
knew  they  would.  Didn't  you  have  king  and  queen  of 
hearts  three  deals  running  ?  What  did  you  dream  about 
last  Tuesday,  tell  me  that  ?  " 


so  A    SHABBY  GEXTEEL  STORY. 

But  Miss  Caroline  never  did  tell,  for  her  sisters  came 
bouncing  down  the  stairs,  and  examined  the  lodger's  letter. 
Caroline,  however,  went  aw^y  musing  much  upon  these 
points ;  and  she  began  to  think  Mr.  Brandon  more  wonderful 
and  beautiful  every  day. 

in  the  mean  time,  while  Miss  Caroline  was  innocently  in- 
dulging in  her  inclination  for  the  brilliant  occupier  of  the 
first  floor,  it  came  to  pass  that  the  tenant  of  the  second  w^as 
inflamed  by  a  most  romantic  passion  for  her. 

For,  after  partaking  for  about  a  fortnight  of  the  family 
dinner,  and  passing  some  evenings  with  Mrs.  Gann  and  the 
young  ladies,  Mr.  Fitch,  though  by  no  means  quick  of  com- 
prehension, began  to  perceive  that  the  nightly  charges  that 
were  brought  against  poor  Caroline  could  not  be  founded 
upon  truth.  "  Let's  see,"  mused  he  to  himself.  "  Tuesday, 
the  old  lady  said  her  daughter  was  bringing  her  gray  hairs 
with  sorrow  to  the  grave,  because  the  cook  had  not  boiled 
the  potatoes.  Wednesday,  she  said  Caroline  was  an  assassin, 
because  she  could  not  find  her  own  thimble.  Thursday,  she 
vows  Caroline  has  no  religion,  because  that  old  pair  of  silk 
stockings  were  not  darned.  And  this  can't  be,"  reasoned 
Fitch,  deeply.  "  A  gal  hain't  a  murderess  because  her  Ma 
can't  find  her  thimble.  A  woman  that  goes  to  slap  her 
grown-up  daughter  on  the  back,  and  before  company  too, 
for  such  a  paltry  thing  as  a  hold  pair  of  stockings  can't  be 
surely  a-speaking  the  truth."  And  thus  gradually  his  first 
impression  against  Caroline  wore  away.  As  this  disap- 
peared, pity  took  possession  of  his  soul  —  and  Ave  know 
what  pity  is  akin  to ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  a  correspond- 
ing hatred  for  the  oppressors  of  a  creature  so  amiable. 

To  sum  up,  in  six  short  weeks  after  the  appearance  of 
the  tw^o  gentlemen,  we  find  our  chief  dramatis  personce  as 
follows :  — 

Carolixe,  an  innocent  younc:  woman,  in  love  with  Brandon. 
Frrcir,  a  celebrated  painter,  almost  in  love  with  Caholine. 
Brandon,  a  young  gentleman,  in  love  with  himself. 

At  first  he  was  pretty  constant  in  his  attendance  upon  the 
Misses  ]Macarty  when  they  went  out  to  walk,  nor  were  they 
displeased  at  his  attentions ;  but  he  found  that  there  were 
a  great  number  of  Margate  beaux  —  ugly,  vulgar  fellows  as 
ever  were  —  who  always  followed  in  the  young  ladies'  train, 
and  made  themselves  infinitely  more  agreeable  than  he  w^as. 
These  men  Mr.  Brandon  treated  with  a  great  deal  of  scorn : 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  31 

and,  in  return,  they  hated  him  cordially.  So  did  the  ladies 
speedily  :  his  liauglit}'  manners,  though  quite  as  impertinent 
and  free,  were  not  half  so  pleasant  to  them  as  Jones'a  jokes 
or  Smith's  charming  romps  5  and  the  girls  gave  Brandon 
very  shortly  to  understand  that  they  were  much  happier 
without  him.  "  Ladies,  your  humble,"  he  heard  Bob  Smith 
say,  as  that  little  linen-draper  came  skipping  to  the  door 
from  which  they  were  issuing.  "  The  sun's  hup  and  trade 
is  down ;  if  you're  for  a  walk,  I'm  your  man."  And  Miss 
Linda  and  Miss  Bella  each  took  an  arm  of  Mr.  Smith,  and 
sailed  down  the  street.  "  I'm  glad  you  ain't  got  that  proud 
gent  Avith  the  glass  hi,"  said  Mr.  Smith ;  "  he's  the  most 
hillbred,  supercilious  beast  I  ever  see." 

''  So  he  is,"  says  Bella. 

^'  Hush  ! "  says  Linda. 

The  ''proud  gent  with  the  glass  hi"  was  at  this  moment 
lolling  out  of  the  first-floor  window,  smoking  his  accustomed 
cigar;  and  his  eyeglass  was  fixed  upon  the  ladies,  to  whom 
he  made  a  very  low  bow.  It  may  be  imagined  how  fond 
ho  was  of  them  afterwards,  and  what  looks  he  cast  at  ]\Ir. 
Bob  Smith  the  next  time  he  met  him.  Mr.  Bob's  heart 
beat  for  a  day  afterwards ;  and  he  found  he  had  business  in 
town. 

But  the  love  of  society  is  stronger  than  even  pride ;  and 
the  great  ]\Ir.  Brandon  was  sometimes  fain  to  descend  from 
his  high  station  and  consort  with  the  vulgar  family  with 
whom  he  lodged.  But,  as  we  have  said,  he  always  did  this 
Avith  a  wonderfully  condescending  air,  givina^  his  associates 
to  understand  how  great  was  the  honor  he  did  them. 

One  day,  then,  he  was  absolutely  so  kind  as  to  accept  of 
an  invitation  from  the  ground-floor,  which  was  delivered  in 
the  passage  by  jVEr.  James  Gann,  who  said,  "  It  was  hard  to 
see  a  gent  eating  mutton-chops  from  week's  end  to  week's 
end;  and  if  Mr.  Brandon  had  a  mind  to  meet  a  devilish 
good  fellow  as  ever  was,  my  friend  Swigby,  a  man  who  rides 
his  horse,  and  has  his  five  hundred  a  year  to  spend,  and  to 
eat  a  prime  cut  out  of  as  good  a  leg  of  pork  (though  he  said 
it)  as  ever  a  knife  was  stuck  into,  they  should  dine  that  day 
at  three  o'clock  sharp,  and  ^Irs.  G.  and  the  gals  would  be 
glad  of  the  honor  of  his  company." 

The  person  so  invited  was  rather  amused  at  the  terms  in 
Avhich  ]Mr.  Gann  conveyed  his  hospitable  message ;  and  at 
three  o'clock  made  his  appearance  in  the  back-parlor,  whence 
he  had  the  honor  of  conducting  Mrs.  Gann  (dressed  in  a 


32  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

sweet  yellow  inoussellne  de  laliie,  with  a  large  red  turban,  a 
fem^onniere,  and  a  smelling-bottle  attached  by  a  ring  to  a 
very  damp,  fat  hand)  to  the  "  office,"  where  the  repast  was 
set  out.  The  Misses  Macarty  were  in  costumes  equally 
tasty  :  one  on  the  guest's  right  hand  ;  one  near  the  boarder 
Mr.  Fitch  —  who,  in  a  large  beard,  an  amethyst  velvet- 
waistcoat,  his  hair  fresh  wetted,  and  parted  accurately  down 
the  middle  to  fall  in  curls  over  his  collar,  would  have  been 
irresistible  if  the  collar  had  been  a  little,  little  whiter  than 
it  was. 

Mr.  Brandon,  too,  was  dressed  in  his  very  best  suit ;  for 
though  he  affected  to  despise  his  hosts  very  much,  he  wished 
to  make  the  most  favorable  impression  upon  tliem,  and  took 
care  to  tell  ^Irs.  Gann  that  he  and  Lord  >So-and-So  were  the 
only  two  men  in  the  world  who  were  in  possession  of  that 
particular  waistcoat  which  she  admired:  for  Mrs.  Gajin  was 
very  gracious,  and  had  admired  the  waistcoat,  being  desirous 
to  impress  Avith  awe  Mr.  Gann's  friend  and  admirer,  ]\Ir. 
Swigby  —  who,  man  of  fortune  as  he  was,  was  a  constant 
frequenter  of  the  club  at  the   "  Bag  of  Nails." 

About  this  club  and  its  supporters  Mr.  Gann's  guest 
Mr.  Swigby,  and  Gann  himself,  talked  very  gayly  before 
dinner ;  all  the  jokes  about  all  the  club  being  roared  over 
by  the  pair. 

Mr,  Brandon,  who  felt  he  was  the  great  man  of  the  party, 
indulged  himself  in  his  great  propensities  without  restraint, 
and  told  ]\Irs.  Gann  stories  about  half  the  nobility.  Mrs. 
Gann  conversed  knowingly  about  the  Opera;  and  declared 
that  she  thought  Taglioni  the  sweetest  singer  in  the 
world. 

"  jMr.  —  a  —  Swigby,  have  you  ever  seen  Lablache  dance  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Brandon  of  that  gentlenjan,  to  whom  he  had  been 
formally  introduced. 

"At  Vauxhall  is  he?"  said  Mr.  SAvigby,  Avho  was  just 
from  town. 

"Yes,  on  the  tight-rope;  a  charming  performer." 

On  which  Mr.  Gann  told  liow  he  had  been  to  Vauxhall 
when  the  princes  were  in  London ;  and  his  lady  talked  of 
these  knowingly;  And  then  they  fell  to  conversing  about 
fireworks  and  rack-punch ;  ]\Ir.  Brandon  assuring  the  A^oung 
ladies  that  Vauxhall  was  the  very  pink  of  the  fashion,  and 
longing  to  have  the  honor  of  dancing  a  quadrille  with  them 
there.  Indeed ;  Brandon  was  so  very  sarcastic,  that  not  a 
single  soul  at  table  understood  him. 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL    STORY. 


33 


The  table,  from  ]Mr.  Brandon's  plan  of  it,  which  was 
afterwards  sent  to  my  Lord  Cinqbars,  was  arranged  as 
follows :  — 


o 


Miss  CaroHne. 

Mr.  Fitch. 

Miss  L.  Macarty. 

1. 

Potatoes. 

3. 

g 

S 

A  roast  leg  of 
poik,   with    sage 
and  onions. 

Tliree  shreds 
of  celery  in  a 
glass. 

Boiled  haddock, 
removed  by  hash- 
ed mutton. 

9 

2. 

Cabbage. 

4. 
y.         Mr.  Brandon. 

p 

Mr.  Swigby. 

M 

iss  B.  Macart 

1  and  2  are  pots  of  porter ;  3,  a  qnart  of  ale,  Mrs.  Gann's 
favorite  drink;  4,  a  bottle  of  fine  old  golden  sherry,  the 
real  produce  of  the  Uva  grape,  purchased  at  the  "Bag  of 
Kails  "  Hotel  for  Is.  9d.  by  Mr.  J.  Gann. 

Mr.  Gann.  ''  Taste  that  sherry,  sir.  Your  'ealth,  and 
my  services  to  you,  sir.  That  wine,  sir,  is  given  me  as  a 
particular  favor  by  my  —  ahem  !  —  my  wine-merchant,  who 
onl}'  will  part  with  a  small  cpiantity  of  it,  and  imports  it 
direct,  sir,  from  —  ahem  !  —  from  —  " 

3fr.  Brandon.  "From  Xeres,  of  course.  It  is,  I  really 
think,  the  finest  wine  I  ever  tasted  in  my  life  —  at  a  com- 
moner's table,  that  is." 

Mrs.  Gann.  "Oh,  in  course,  a  commoner's  table!  —  we 
have  no  titles,  sir  (Mr.  Gann,  I  will  trouble  you  for  some 
more  crackling),  though  my  poor  dear  girls  are  related,  by 
their  blessed  father's  side,  to  some  of  the  first  nobility  in 
the  land,  I  assure  you." 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Gammon,  Jooly  my  dear.  Them  Irish 
nobility,  you  know,  what  are  they  ?  And  besides,  it's  my 
belief  that  the  gals  are  no  more  related  to  them  than 
1  am." 

Miss  Bella  {to  Mr.  Brandon,  confidentially).  "You 
must  find  that  poor  Par  is  sadly  vulgar,  Mr.  Brandon." 

Mrs.  Gann.  "Mr.  Brandon  has  never  been  accustomed 
to  such  language,  I  am  sure  ;  and  7  entreat  you  will  excuse 
Mr.  Gann's  rudeness,  sir." 

VOL.    I.  —  3 


34  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

Miss  Linda.  ^^  Indeed,  1  assure  you,  Mr.  Brandon,  that 
we've  high  connections  as  well  as  low;  as  high  as  some 
people's  connections,  per'aps,  though  we  are  not  always 
talking  of  the  nobility."  This  was  a  double  shot :  the  first 
barrel  of  Miss  Linda's  sentence  hit  her  step-father,  the 
second  part  was  levelled  directly  at  Mr.  Brandon.  "  Don't 
you  think  I'm  right,  Mr.  Fitch  '/  " 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  You  are  quite  right.  Miss  Linda,  in  this 
as  in  every  other  instance ;  but  I  am  afraid  Mr.  Fitch  has 
not  paid  proper  attention  to  your  excellent  remark  :  for,  if 
I  don't  mistake  the  meaning  of  that  beautiful  design  which 
he  has  made  with  his  fork  upon  the  table-cloth,  his  soul  is 
at  this  moment  wrapped  up  in  his  art." 

This  was  exactly  what  Mr.  Fitch  Avished  that  all  the 
world  should  suppose.  He  flung  back  his  chair,  and  stared 
wildly  for  a  moment,  and  said,  ''  Pardon  me,  madam  :  it  is 
true  my  thoughts  were  at  that  moment  far  away  in  the 
regions  of  my  hart."  He  was  really  thinking  that  his  atti- 
tude was  a  very  elegant  one,  and  that  a  large  garnet  ring 
which  he  wore  on  his  forelinger  must  be  mistaken  by  all 
the  company  for  a  ruby. 

"  Art  is  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Brandon ;  "  but  with  such 
pretty  natural  objects  before  you,  I  wonder  you  were  not 
content  to  think  of  them." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  mashed  potatoes,  sir  ?  "  said  Andrea 
Fitch,  wondering. 

"I  mean  ^liss  Rosalind  Macarty,"  answered  Brandon, 
gallantly,  and  laughing  heartily  at  the  painter's  simplicity. 
But  this  compliment  could  not  soften  Miss  Linda,  who  had 
an  uneasy  conviction  that  Mr.  Brandon  was  laughing  at 
her,  and  disliked  him  accordingly. 

At  this  juncture.  Miss  Caroline  entered  and  took  the 
place  marked  as  hers,  to  the  left  hand  of  Mr.  Gann,  vacant. 
An  old  rickety  wooden  stool  was  placed  for  her,  instead  of 
that  elegant  and  commodious  Windsor  chair  which  sup- 
ported every  other  person  at  table ;  and  by  the  side  of 
the  plate  stood  a  curious  old  battered  tin  mug,  on  which 
the  antiquarian  might  possibly  discover  the  inscription  of 
the  word  "  Caroline."  This,  in  truth,  was  poor  Caroline's 
mug  and  stool,  having  been  appropriated  to  her  from 
childhood  upwards ;  and  here  it  was  her  custom  meekly 
to  sit,  and  eat  her  daily  meal. 

It  was  well  that  the  girl  was  placed  near  her  father,  else 
I  do  believe  she  would  have  been  starved ;  but  Gann  was 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  ^5 

much  too  good-natured  to  allow  that  any  difference  should 
be  made  between  her  and  her  sisters.  There  are  some  mean- 
nesses which  are  too  mean  even  for  man  —  woman,  lovely 
woman  alone,  can  venture  to  commit  them.  Well,  on  the 
present  occasion,  and  when  the  dinner  was  half  over,  poor 
Caroline  stole  gently  into  the  room  and  took  her  ordinary 
place.  Caroline's  pale  face  was  very  red ;  for  the  fact  must 
be  told  that  she  had  been  in  the  kitchen  helping  Becky,  the 
universal  maid;  and  having  heard  how  the  great  ^Ir. 
Brandon  was  to  dine  with  them  upon  that  day,  the  simple 
girl  had  been  showing  her  respect  for  him  by  compiling, 
in  her  best  manner,  a  certain  dish,  for  the  cooking  of  which 
her  papa  had  often  praised  her.  She  took  her  place,  blush- 
ing violently  when  she  saw  him,  and  if  Mr.  Gann  had  not 
been  making  a  violent  clattering  with  his  knife  and  fork, 
it  is  possible  that  he  might  have  heard  Miss  Caroline's 
heart  thump,  which  it  did  violently.  Her  dress  Avas  some- 
how a  little  smai-ter  than  usual ;  and  Becky  the  maid,  who 
brought  in  that  remove  of  hashed  mutton  which  has  been 
set  down  in  the  bill  of  fare,  looked  at  her  young  lady  with 
a  good  deal  of  complacency,  as,  loaded  with  plates,  she 
quitted  the  room.  Indeed,  the  poor  girl  deserved  to  be 
looked  at :  there  was  an  air  of  gentleness  and  innocence 
about  her  that  was  apt  to  please  some  persons,  much  more 
than  the  bold  beauties  of  her  sisters.  The  two  young  men 
did  not  fail  to  remark  this ;  one  of  them,  the  little  painter, 
had  long  since  observed  it. 

"You  are  very  late,  miss,"  cried  Mrs.  Gann,  who  af- 
fected not  to  know  what  had  caused  her  daughter's  delay. 
"  You're  always  late  I "  and  the  elder  girls  stared  and 
grinned  at  each  other  knowingly,  as  they  always  did 
when  mamma  made  such  attacks  upon  Caroline,  who  only 
kept  her  eyes  down  upon  the  table-cloth,  and  began  to  eat 
her  dinner  without  saying  a  word. 

"  Come,  my  dear,"  cried  honest  Gann,  "if  she  is  late  you 
know  why.  A  girl  can't  be  here  and  there  too,  as  I  say  ; 
can  they,  Swigby  ?  " 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  Swigby. 

"Gents,"  continued  ]\Ir.  Gann,  "our  Carrj',  you  must 
know,  has  been  downstairs  making  the  pudding  for  her 
old  pappy;  and  a  good  pudding  she  makes,  I  can  tell 
you." 

^liss  Caroline  blushed  more  vehemently  than  ever ;  the 
artist  stared  her  full  in  the  face ;   ^Irs.  Gann  said  "  Non- 


36  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

sense  "  and  "  stuff,"  very  majestically ;  only  Mr.  Brandon 
interposed  in  Caroline's  favor. 

"  1  would  sooner  that  my  wife  should  know  how  to  make 
a  pudding,"  said  he,  "than  how  to  play  the  best  piece  of 
music  in  the  Avorld  ! " 

"  Law,  Mr.  Brandon !  I,  for  my  part,  wouldn't  demean 
myself  by  any  such  kitchen-work !  "  cries  Miss  Linda. 

"  ]\Iake  puddens,  indeed  :  it's  ojous  !  "  cries  Bella. 

"  For  you,  my  loves,  of  course  ! "  interposed  their 
mamma.  "  Young  women  of  your  family  and  circum- 
stances is  not  expected  to  perform  any  such  work.  It's 
different  with  Miss  Caroline,  who,  if  she  does  make  her- 
self useful  now  and  then,  don't  make  herself  near  so  useful 
as  she  should,  considering  that  she's  not  a  shilling,  and  is 
living  on  our  charit}^,  like  some  other  folks." 

Thus  did  this  amiable  woman  neglect  no  opportunity  to 
give  her  opinions  about  her  husband  and  daughter.  The 
former,  however,  cared  not  a  straw ;  and  the  latter,  in  this 
instance,  was  perfectly  happy.  Had  not  kind  Mr.  Brandon 
approved  of  her  work ;  and  could  she  ask  for  more  ? 

"  Mamma  may  say  what  she  pleases  to-day,"  thought 
Caroline.     "  I  am  too  happy  to  be  made  angry  by  her." 

Poor  little  mistaken  Caroline,  to  think  you  were  safe 
against  three  women  !  The  dinner  had  not  advanced  much 
further,  when  Miss  Isabella,  who  had  been  examining  her 
younger  sister  curiously  for  some  short  time,  telegraphed 
Miss  Linda  across  the  table,  and  nodded,  and  winked,  and 
pointed  to  her  own  neck ;  a  very  white  one,  as  I  have 
before  had  the  honor  to  remark,  and  quite  without  any 
covering,  except  a  smart  necklace  of  twenty-four  rows  of 
the  lightest  blue  glass  beads,  finishing  in  a  neat  tassel. 
Linda  had  a  similar  orjiament  of  a  vermilion  color;  where- 
as Caroline,  on  this  occasion,  wore  a  handsome  new  collar 
up  to  the  throat,  and  a  brooch,  which  looked  all  the  smarter 
for  the  shabby  frock  over  which  they  were  placed.  As 
soon  as  she  saw  her  sister's  signals,  the  poor  little  thing, 
who  had  only  just  done  fluttering  and  blushing,  fell  to  this 
same  work  over  again.  Down  went  her  eyes  once  more, 
and  her  face  and  neck  lighted  up  to  the  color  of  Miss 
Linda's  sham  cornelian. 

"  What's  the  gals  giggling  and  ogling  about  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Gann,  innocently. 

"  What  is  it,"^  my  darling  loves  ? "  said  stately  Mrs. 
Gann. 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  37 

"Why,  don't  you  see,  ^Ma?"  said  Linda.  "Look  at 
Miss  Carry !  I'm  blessed  if  she  has  not  got  on  Becky's 
collar  and  brooch  that  Sims  the  pilot  gave  her!" 

The  young  ladies  fell  back  in  uproarious  fits  of  laughter, 
and  laughed  all  the  time  that  their  mamma  was  thundering 
out  a  speech,  in  which  she  declared  that  her  daughter's 
conduct  was  unworthy  a  gentlewoman,  and  bid  her  leave 
the  room  and  take  oft"  those  disgraceful  ornaments. 

There  was  no  need  to  tell  her;  the  poor  little  thing 
gave  one  piteous  look  at  her  father,  who  was  whistling, 
and  seemed  indeed  to  think  the  matter  a  good  joke; 
and  after  she  had  managed  to  open  the  door  and  totter 
into  the  passage,  you  might  have  heard  her  weeping  there, 
weeping  tears  more  bitter  than  any  of  the  many  she  had 
shed  in  the  course  of  her  life.  Down  she  went  to  the 
kitchen,  and  when  she  reached  that  humble  place  of 
refuge,  first  pulled  at  her  neck  and  made  as  if  she  would 
take  off  Becky's  collar  and  brooch,  and  then  flung  herself 
into  the  arms  of  that  honest  scullion,  where  she  cried  and 
cried  till  she  brought  on  the  first  fit  of  hysterics  that  ever 
she  had  had. 

This  crying  could  not  at  first  be  heard  in  the  parlor,  where 
the  young  ladies,  ]\rrs.  Gann,  Mr.  G-ann,  and  his  friend 
from  the  '-Bag  of  ISTails"  were  roaring  at  the  excellence  of 
the  joke.  Mr.  Brandon,  sipping  sherry,  sat  by,  looking 
very  sarcastically  and  slyly  from  one  party  to  the  other ; 
IVIr.  Fitch  was  staring  about  him  too,  but  with  a  very  dif- 
ferent expression,  anger  and  wonder  inflaming  his  bearded 
countenance.  At  last,  as  the  laughing  died  away  and  a 
faint  voice  of  weeping  came  from  the  kitchen  below, 
Andrew  could  bear  it  no  longer,  but  bounced  up  from  his 
chair  and  rushed  out  of  the  room  exclaiming,  — 

"  By  Jove,  it's  too  bad  !  " 

"  What  does  the  man  mean  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Gann. 

He  meant  that  he  was  from  that  moment  over  head  and 
ears  in  love  with  Caroline,  and  that  he  longed  to  beat, 
buffet,  pummel,  thump,  tear  to  pieces,  those  callous  ruftians 
who  so  pitilessly  laughed  at  her. 

"What's  that  chop  wi'  the  beard  in  such  tantrums 
about?"  said  the  gentleman  from  tha  "Bag  of  Nails." 

]\[r.  Gann  answered  this  query  by  some  joke,  intimating 
that  '•  per'aps  ^Nlr.  Fitch's  dinner  did  not  agree  with  him," 
at  which  these  worthies  roared  again. 

The  young  ladies  said,  "Well,  now,  upon  my  word !  " 


38  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

"  Mighty  genteel  behavior,  truly  !  "  cried  mamma ;  "  but 
what  can  you  expect  from  the  poor  thing  ?  " 

Brandon  onl}-  sipped  more  sherry,  but  he  looked  at  Fitch 
as  the  latter  hung  out  of  the  room,  and  his  countenance 
was  lighted  up  by  a  more  unequivocal  smile. 

These  two  little  adventures  were  followed  by  a  silence  of 
some  few  minutes,  during  which  the  meats  remained  on  the 
table,  and  no  signs  were  shown  of  that  pudding  upon  which 
poor  Caroline  had  exhausted  her  skill.  The  absence  of 
this  delicious  part  of  the  repast  was  first  remarked  by  Mr. 
Gann ;  and  his  lady,  after  jangling  at  the  bell  for  some 
time  in  vain,  at  last  begged  one  of  her  daughters  to  go  and 
hasten  matters. 

"Becky  !  "  shrieked  Miss  Linda  from  the  hall,  but  Becky 
replied  not.  "Becky,  are  we  to  be  kept  waiting  all  day  ?  " 
continued  the  lady  in  the  same  shrill  voice.  "  Mamma 
wants  the  pudding  !  " 

"  Tell  her  to  fetch  it  herself  ! "  roared  Becky,  at 
which  remark  Gann  and  his  facetious  friend  once  more 
went  oft'  into  hts  of  laughter. 

"This  is  too  bad!"  said  Mrs.  G.,  starting  up;  ^' she 
shall  leave  the  house  this  instant ! "  and  so  no,  doubt 
Becky  would,  but  that  the  la*ly  owed  her  five  quarters' 
wages ;  which  she,  at  that  period,  did  not  feel  inclined 
to  pay. 

Well,  the  dinner  at  last  was  at  an  end ;  the  ladies  went 
away  to  tea,  leaving  the  gentlemen  to  their  wine  ;  Bran- 
don, very  condescendingly,  partaking  of  a  bottle  of  port, 
and  listening  with  admiration  to  the  toasts  and  sentiments 
with  which  it  is  still  the  custom  among  persons  of  IVIr, 
Gann's  rank  of  life  to  preface  each  glass  of  wine.  As 
thus : — 

Glass  1.  "Gents,"  says  ^NFr.  Gann,  rising,  "this  glass  I 
need  say  nothink  about.  Here's  the  king,  and  long  life  to 
him  and  the  family  !  " 

INIr.  Swigby,  with  his  glass,  goes  knock,  knock,  knock  on 
the  table;  and  saying  gravely,  "The  king!  "  drinks  off  his 
glass,  and  smacks  his  lips  afterwards. 

Mr.  Brandon,  who  had  drunk  half  his,  stops  in  the  midst 
and  says,  "  Oh,  Hhe  king  ! '  " 

Mr.  Sivlghy.      "A  good  glass  of  wine  that,  Gann  my  boy ! " 

Mr.  Brando)!.  "  Capital,  really  ;  though,  upon  my  faith, 
I'm  no  judge  of  port." 


A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  39 

3fr.  Gann  (smacks).  ^' A  line  fruity  wiiie  as  ever  I  tasted. 
I  suppose  you,  Mr.  B.,  are  accustomed  only  to  claret.  I've 
"ad  it,  too,  in  my  time,  sir,  as  Swigby  there  very  well 
knows.  I  travelled,  sir,  sure  le  Contlnong,  I  assure  you, 
and  drank  my  glass  of  claret  with  the  best  man  in  France, 
or  England  either.     I  wasn't  always  what  I  am,  sir." 

Mr.  Brandon.     "You  don't  look  as  if  you  were." 

Mr.  Gann.     "  ^N'o,  sir.     Before  that gas  came  in,  I 

was  head,  sir,  of  one  of  the  fust  'ouses  in  the  hoil-trade, 
Gann,  Blubbery,  &  Gann,  sir  —  Thames  Street,  City.  I'd 
my  box  at  Putney,  as  good  a  gig  and  horse  as  my  friend 
there  drives." 

Mr.  Sicighy.  "Ay,  and  a  better  too,  Gann,  I  make  no 
doubt." 

Mr.  Gann.  "Well,  say  a  better.  I  had  a  better,  if 
money  could  fetch  it,  sir ;  and  I  didn't  spare  that,  I  warrant 
you.  Xo,  no,  James  Gann  didn't  grudge  his  purse,  sir;  and 
iiad  his  friends  around  him,  as  he's  'appy  to  'ave  now,  sir. 
Mr.  Brandon,  your  'ealth,  sir,  and  may  we  hoften  meet 
under  this  ma'ogany.     Swigby,  my  boy,  God  bless  you ! " 

Mr.  Brandon.     "  Your  very  good  health." 

Mr.  Sicighy.  "Thank  you,  Gann.  Here's  to  you,  and 
long  life  and  prosperity  and  happiness  to  you  and  yours. 
Bless  you,  Jim  my  boy;  heaven  bless  you!  I  say  this, 
^Ir.  Bandon  —  Brandon  —  what's  your  name  —  there  ain't 
a  better  fellow  in  all  ]\[argate  than  James  Gann,  — no,  nor 
in  all  England.  Here's  Mrs.  Gann,  gents,  and  the  family. 
!Mks.  Gaxx  !  "  (drinhs.) 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  Mrs.  Gaxx.  Hip,  hip,  hurrah !  " 
(drinks.) 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Mrs.  Gann,  and  thank  you,  gents.  A  fine 
woman,  Mr.  B. ;  ain't  she  now  ?  Ah,  if  you'd  seen  'er 
when  I  married  her  !  Gad,  she  icas  fine  then  —  an  out  and 
outer,  sir  !     Sui^h  a  figure  !  " 

Mr.  Swigby.  "  You'd  choose  none  but  a  good  'un,  I  war'nt. 
Ha,  ha,  ha  ! " 

Mr.  Gann.  "Did  I  ever  tell  you  of  my  duel  along 
with  the  regimental  doctor  ?  JSTo !  Then  I  will.  I  was 
a  young  chap,  you  see,  in  those  days  ;  and  when  I  saw 
her  at 'Brussels  —  (Brmell,  they  call  it)  —  I  was  right 
^liek  up  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  her  at  once.  But 
what  was  to  be  done  ?  There  w^as  another  gent  in  the  case 
—  a  regimental  doctor,  sir  —  a  reg'lar  dragon.  'Faint 
heart,'  says  I,  '  never  won  a  fair  lady,'  and  so  I  made  so 


40  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

bold.  She  took  me,  sent  the  doctor  to  the  right  about.  I 
met  him  one  morning  in  the  park  at  Brussels,  and  stood  to 
him,  sir,  like  a  man.  When  the  affair  was  over,  my  second, 
a  leftenant  of  dragoons,  told  me,  '  Gann',  says  he,  'I've  seen 
many  a  man  under  fire  —  I'm  a  Waterloo  man,'  says  he, — 
'  and  have  rode  by  Wellington  many  a  long  day  ;  but  I  never, 
for  coolness,  see  such  a  man  as  you,'  Gents,  here's  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  and  the  British  army  !  "  (the  gents  drink.) 

Mr.  Brandon.     '•'  Did  you  kill  the  doctor,  sir  ?  " 

Mr.  Gann.     ''Why,  no,  sir  5  I  shot  in  the  hair," 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  Shot  him  in  the  hair  !  Egad,  that  was 
a  severe  shot  and  a  very  lucky  escape  the  doctor  had  of  it  ? 
Whereabout  in  the  hair  !  a  whisker,  sir ;  or,  perhaps,  a  pig- 
tail ?  " 

Mr.  Sw'ighy.  "Haw,  haw,  haw!  shot'n  in  the  hair  — 
capital,  capital ! " 

Mr.  Gann,  loho  has  grown  very  red.  "No,  sir,  there 
may  be  some  mistake  in  my  pronounciation,  which  I  didn't 
expect  to  have  laughed  at,  at  my  hown  table." 

Mr.  Brandon.     "My  dear  sir  !  I  protest  and  vow  —  " 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Never  mind  it,  sir.  I  gave  you  my  best, 
and  did  my  best  to  make  you  welcome.  If  you  like  better 
to  make  fun  of  me,  do,  sir.  That  may  be  the  genteel  way, 
but  hang  me  if  it's  hoar  way;  is  it,  Jack?  Our  way;  I 
beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

Mr.  Si.vigbij.  "  Jim,  Jim  !  for  heaven's  sake  !  —  peace 
and  harmony  of  the  evening  —  conviviality  —  social  enjoy- 
ment—  didn't  mean  it  —  did  you  mean  anything,  Mr. 
What-d'-ye-call-'im  ?  " 

Mr.  Brandon.  "Nothing,  upon  my  honor  as  a  gentle- 
man ! " 

Mr.  Gann.  "Well,  then,  there's  my  hand!"  and  good- 
natured  Gann  tried  to  forget  the  insult,  and  to  talk  as  if 
nothing  had  occurred:  but  he  had  been  wounded  in  the 
most  sensitive  point  in  which  a  man  can  be  touched  by  his 
superior,  and  never  forgot  Brandon's  joke.  That  night  at 
the  club,  when  dreadfully  tipsy,  he  made  several  speeches 
on  the  subject,  and  burst  into  tears  many  times.  The 
pleasure  of  the  evening  was  quite  spoiled ;  and,  as  the 
conversation  became  rapid  and  dull,  we  shall  refrain  from 
reporting  it.  Mr.  Brandon  speedily  took  leave,  but  had 
not  the  courage  to  face  the  ladies  at  tea ;  to  wliom,  it  ap- 
pears, the  reconciled  Becky  had  brought  that  refreshing 
beverage. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IX  WHICH  MR.  FITCH  PROCLAIMS  HIS  LOVE,  AXD  MR.  BRAXDOX 
PREPARES    FOR    WAR. 


RO]\r  the  splendid  hall  in 
which  IMrs.  Gaun  was  dis- 
pensing her  hospitality,  the 
celebrated  painter,  Andrea 
Fitch,  rnshed  forth  in  a  state 
of  mind  even  more  delirions 
than  that  which  he  usually 
enjoyed.  He  looked  abroad 
into  the  street :  all  there  was 
dusk  and  lonely ;  the  rain 
falling  heavily,  the  wind 
playing  Pandean  pipes  and 
whistling  down  the  chimney- 
pots. "I  love  the  storm,'' 
said  Pitch,  solemnh' ;  and  he 
put  his  great  Spanish  cloak  round  him  in  the  most  ap- 
proved manner  (it  was  of  so  prodigious  a  size  that  the  tail 
of  it,  as  it  twirled  over  his  shoulder,  whisked  away  a 
lodging-card  from  the  door  of  the  house  o])posite  ^Mr. 
Gann's).  "I  love  the  storm  and  solitude,"  said  he,  light- 
ing a  large  pipe  filled  full  of  the  fragrant  Oronooko  ;  and 
thus  armed  he  passed  rapidly  down  the  street,  his  hat 
cocked  over  his  ringlets. 

Andrea  did  not  like  smoking,  but  he  used  a  pipe  as  a  part 
of  his  profession  as  an  artist,  and  as  one  of  the  picturesque 
parts  of  his  costume ;  in  like  manner,  though  he  did  not 
fence,  he  always  travelled  about  with  a  pair  of  foils ;  and 
quite  unconscious  of  music,  nevertheless  had  a  guitar  con- 
stantly near  at  hand.  Without  such  properties  a  painter's 
spectacle  is  not  com])lete;  and  now  he  determined  to  add 
to  them  another  indispensable  requisite, —  a  mistress, 
"  What  great  artist  was  ever  Avithout  one  ?  "  thought  he. 
Long,  long  had  he  sighed  for  some  one  whom  he  might  love, 

41 


42  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

some  one  to  whom  he  might  address  the  poems  which  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  making.  Hundreds  of  such  fragments 
had  he  composed,  addressed  to  Leila,  Ximena,  Ada  —  imag- 
inary beauties,  whom  he  courted  in  dreamy  verse.  With 
what  joy  would  he  replace  all  those  by  a  real  charmer  of 
flesh  and  blood !  Away  he  went,  then,  on  this  evening  — 
the  tyranny  of  Mrs.  Gann  towards  poor  Caroline  having 
awakened  all  his  sympathies  in  the  gentle  girl's  favor  — 
determined  now  and  forever  to  make  her  the  mistress  of  his 
heart.  Monna-Lisa,  the  Fornarina,  Leonardo,  Raphael  —  he 
thought  of  all  these,  and  vowed  that  his  Caroline  should  be 
made  famous  and  live  forever  on  his  canvas.  AVhile  IMrs. 
Gann  was  preparing  for  her  friends,  and  entertaining  them 
at  tea  and  whist ;  while  Caroline,  all  unconscious  of  the 
love  she  inspired,  was  weeping  upstairs  in  her  little  garret; 
while  Mr.  Brandon  was  enjoying  the  refined  conversation 
of  Gann  and  Swigby,  over  their  glass  and  pipe  in  the  office, 
Andrea  walked  abroad  by  the  side  of  the  ocean ;  and,  before 
he  was  wet  through,  walked  himself  into  the  most  fervid 
affection  for  poor  persecuted  Caroline.  The  reader  might 
have  observed  him  (had  not  the  night  been  very  dark,  and 
a  great  deal  too  wet  to  allow  a  sensible  reader  to  go  abroad 
on  such  an  errand)  at  the  sea-shore  standing  on  a  rock,  and 
drawing  from  his  bosom  a  locket  which  contained  a  curl  of 
hair  tied  up  in  ribbon.  He  looked  at  it  for  a  moment,  and 
then  flung  it  away  from  him  into  the  black  boiling  waters 
below  him. 

''  No  other  'air  but  thine,  Caroline,  shall  ever  rest  near 
this  'art ! "  he  said  and  kissed  the  locket  and  restored  it  to 
its  place.  Light-minded  youth,  whose  hair  was  it  that  he 
thus  flung  away  ?  How  many  times  had  Andrea  shown 
that  very  ringlet  in  strictest  confidence  to  several  brethren 
of  the  brush,  and  declared  that  it  was  the  hair  of  a  dear 
girl  in  Spain  whom  he  loved  to  madness  ?  Alas  !  'twas  but 
a  Action  of  his  fevered  brain ;  every  one  of  his  friends  had 
a  locket  of  hair,  and  Andrea,  who  had  no  love  until  novv^, 
had  clipped  this  precious  token  from  the  wig  of  a  lovely  lay- 
flgure,  with  cast-iron  joints  and  a  card-board  head,  that  had 
stood  for  some  time  in  his  atelier.  I  don't  know  that  he 
felt  any  shame  about  the  proceeding,  for  he  was  of  such  a 
warm  imagination  that  he  had  grown  to  believe  that  the  hair 
did  actually  come  from  a  girl  in  Spain,  and  only  parted 
with  it  on  yielding  to  a  superior  attachment. 

This  attachment  being  fixed  on,  the  young  painter  came 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL    STORY.  43 

home  wet  tliroiigli ;  passed  the  night  in  reading  Byron ; 
making  sketches,  and  bnrning  them ;  Avriting  poems  to 
Caroline,  and  expunging  them  with  pitiless  india-rubber. 
A  romantic  man  makes  a  point  of  sitting  up  all  night,  and 
pacing  his  chamber;  and  you  may  see  many  a  composition 
of  Andrea's  dated  '-Midnight,  10th  of  jMarch,  A.  F.,"  with 
his  peculiar  flourish  over  the  initials.  He  was  not  sorry  to 
be  told  in  the  morning,  by  the  ladies  at  breakfast,  that  he 
looked  dreadfully  pale ;  and  answered,  laying  his  hand  on 
his  forehead  and  shaking  his  head  gloomily,  that  he  could 
get  no  sleep :  and  then  he  would  heave  a  huge  sigh ;  and 
Miss  ]>ella  and  Miss  Linda  would  look  at  each  other,  and 
grin  according  to  their  wont.  He  was  glad,  I  say,  to  have 
his  woe  remarked,  and  continued  his  sleeplessness  for  two 
or  three  nights ;  but  he  was  certaiidy  still  more  glad  when 
he  heard  Mr.  Brandon,  on  the  fourth  morning,  cry  out,  in  a 
shrill,  angry  voice  to  Becky  tlie  maid,  to  give  the  gentleman 
upstairs  his  compliments — Mr.  Brandon's  compliments  — 
and  tell  him  that  he  could  not  get  a  wink  of  sleep  for 
the  horrid  trampling  he  kept  up.  "  I  am  hanged  if  I  stay 
in  the  house  a  night  longer,"  added  the  first  floor  sharply, 
"  if  that  Mr.  Fitch  kicks  up  such  a  confounded  noise  ! " 
Mr.  Fitch's  point  was  gained,  and  henceforth  he  was  as 
quiet  as  a  mouse;  for  his  wish  was  not  only  to  be  in  love, 
but  to  let  everybody  know  he  was  in  love,  or  where  is  the 
use  of  a  helle  passion  ? 

So  whenever  he  saw  Caroline,  at  meals,  or  in  the  passage, 
he  used  to  stare  at  her  with  the  utmost  power  of  his  big 
e3^es,  and  fall  to  groaning  most  ]):ithetically.  He  used  to 
leave  his  meals  untasted,  groan,  lieave  sighs,  and  stare  in- 
cessantl}".  Mrs.  Gann  and  her  eldest  daughters  were  aston- 
ished at  these  manoeuvres ;  for  they  never  sus^^ected  that 
any  man  could  possibly  be  such  a  fool  as  to  fall  in  love  with 
Caroline.  At  length  the  suspicion  came  upon  them,  created 
immense  laughter  and  delight ;  and  the  ladies  did  not  fail 
to  rally  Caroline  in  their  usual  elegant  way.  Gann,  too, 
loved  a  joke  (much  polite  waggery  had  this  worthy  man 
practised  in  select  inn-parlors  for  twenty  years  past),  and 
would  call  poor  Caroline  -'  Mrs.  F.,"  and  say  that  instead 
of  Fetch  and  Carry,  as  he  used  to  name  her,  he  should  style 
her  F'ltch  and  Carry  for  the  future ;  and  laugh  at  this  great 
pun,  and  make  many  others  of  a  similar  sort,  that  set 
Caroline  blushing. 

Indeed,  the  girl  suffered  a  great  deal  more  from   this 


44  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

raillery  than  at  first  may  be  imagined;  for  after  the  first 
awe  inspired  by  Fitch's  whiskers  had  passed  away,  and  he 
had  drawn  the  young  ladies'  pictures,  and  made  designs  in 
their  albums,  and  in  the  midst  of  their  jokes  and  conversa- 
tion had  remained  perfectly  silent,  the  Gann  family  had 
determined  that  the  man  was  an  idiot :  and  indeed  were  not 
very  wide  of  the  mark.  In  everything  except  his  own  pecu- 
liar art  honest  Fitch  was  an  idiot;  and  as  upon  the  subject 
of  painting  the  Ganns,  like  most  people  of  tlieir  class  in 
England,  were  profoundly  ignorant,  it  came  to  pass  that 
he  would  breakfast  and  dine  for  many  days  in  their  com- 
pany, and  not  utter  one  single  syllable.  So  they  looked 
upon  him  with  extreme  pity  and  contempt,  as  a  harmless, 
good-natured,  crack-brained  creature,  quite  below  them  in 
the  scale  of  intellect,  and  only  to  be  endured  because  he 
paid  a  certain  number  of  shillings  weekly  to  the  Gann 
exchequer.  Mrs.  Gann  in  all  companies  was  accustomed  to 
talk  about  her  idiot.  Neighbors  and  children  used  to  peer 
at  him  as  he  strutted  down  the  street ;  and  though  every 
young  lady,  including  my  dear  Caroline,  is  flattered  by 
having  a  lover,  at  least  the}'  don't  like  such  a  lover  as  this. 
The  Misses  Macarty  (after  having  set  their  aaps  at  him 
very  fiercely,  and  quarrelled  concerning  him  on  his  first 
coming  to  lodge  at  their  house)  vowed  and  protested  now 
that  he  was  no  better  than  a  chimpanzee  ;  and  Caroline  and 
Becky  agreed  tha^.  this  insult  was  as  great  as  any  that  could 
be  paid  to  the  painter.  "  He's  a  good  creature,  too,"  said 
Becky,  "crack-brained  as  he  is.  Do  you  know,  miss,  he 
gave  me  half  a  sovereign  to  buy  a  new  collar,  after  that 
business  t'other  day  ?  " 

"  And  did  —  Mr. ,  —  did  the  first  floor  say  anything  ?  " 

asked  Caroline. 

"Didn't  he!  he's  a  funny  gentleman,  that  Brandon,  sure 
enough ;  and  when  I  took  him  up  breakfast  next  morning, 
asked  about  Sims  the  pilot,  and  what  I  gi'ed  Sims  for  the 
collar  and  brooch,  —  he,  he  ! " 

And  this  was  indeed  a  correct  report  of  'Mr.  Brandon's 
conversation  with  Becky ;  he  had  been  infinitely  amused 
with  the  whole  transaction,  and  wrote  his  friend  the  viscount 
a  capital  facetious  account  of  the  manners  and  customs  of 
the  native  inhabitants  of  the  Isle  of  Thanet. 

And  now,  when  Mr.  Fitch's  passion  was  fully  developed 

—  as  far,  that  is,  as  sighs  and  ogles  could  give  it  utterance 

—  a  curious  instance  of  that  spirit  of  contradiction  for  which 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL    STORY. 


45 


our  race  is  remarkable  was  seen  in  the  behavior  of  Mr. 
Brandon.  Although  Caroline,  in  the  depths  of  her  little 
silly  heart,  had  set  him  down  for  her  divinity,  her  wondrous 
fairy  prince,  who  Avas  to  deliver  her  from  her  present  mis- 
erable durance,  she  had  never  by  word  or  deed  acquainted 
Brandon  with  her  inclination  for  him,  but  had,  with  instinc- 
tive modesty,  avoided  him  more  sedulously  than  before. 
He,  too,  had  never  bestowed  a  thought  upon  her.  How 
should  such  a  Jove  as  Mr.  Brandon,  from  the  cloudv  summit 


of  his  fashionable  r)lympus,  look  down  and  perceive  such  an 
humble,  retiring  being  as  poor  little  Caroline  Gann  ?  Think- 
ing her  at  first  not  disagreeable,  he  had  never,  until  the  day 
of' the  dinner,  bestowed  one  single  further  thought  upon  her ; 
and  only  when  exasperated  by  the  ]\Iiss  ]\racartys'  behavior 
towards"^  him,  did  he  begin  to  think  how  sweet  it  would  be 
to  make  them  jealous  and  unhappy. 

"The  uncouth  grinning  monsters,"  said  he,  "with  their 
horrible  court  of  JBob  Smiths  and  Jack  Joneses,  daring  to 
look  down   upon   me,  a   gentleman,  —  me,   the   celebrated 


46  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

manrjeur  des  coeurs — a  man  of  genius,  fashion,  and  noble 
family !  If  I  could  but  revenge  myself  on  them  !  What 
injury  can  I  invent  to  wound  them?  " 

It  is  curious  to  what  points  a  man  in  his  passion  will  go. 
Mr.  Brandon  had  long  since,  in  fact,  tried  to  do  the  greatest 
possible  injury  to  the  young  ladies  ;  for  it  had  been,  at  the 
first  dawn  of  his  acquaintance,  as  we  are  bound  with  much 
sorrow  to  confess,  his  fixed  intention  to  ruin  one  or  the 
other  of  them.  And  when  the  young  ladies  had,  by  their 
coldness  and  indifference  to  him,  frustrated  this  benevolent 
intention,  he  straightway  fancied  that  they  had  injured  him 
severely,  and  cast  about  for  means  to  revenge  himself  upon 
them. 

This  point  is,  to  be  sure,  a  very  delicate  one  to  treat,  — 
for  in  words,  at  least,  the  age  has  grown  to  be  wonderfully 
moral,  and  refuses  to  hear  discourses  upon  such  subjeccs. 
But  human  nature,  as  far  as  I  am  able  to  learn,  has  not 
much  changed  since  the  time  when  Richardson  wrote  and 
Hogarth  painted,  a  century  ago.  There  are  wicked  Love- 
laces abroad,  ladies,  now  as  then,  when  it  was  considered  no 
shame  to  expose  the  rogues ;  and  pardon  us,  therefore,  for 
hinting  tliat  such  .there  be.  Elegant  acts  of  rjicerle,  suah  as 
that  meditated  by  Mr.  Brandon,  are  often  performed  still  by 
dashing  young  men  of  the  world,  who  think  no  sin  of  an 
amourette,  but  glory  in  it,  especially  if  the  victim  be  a 
person  of  mean  condition.  Had  Brandon  succeeded  (su?.h 
is  the  high  moral  state  of  our  British  youth),  all  his  frien  Is 
would  have  pronounced  him,  and  he  would  have  considered 
himself,  to  be  a  very  lucky,  captivating  dog ;  nor,  as  I 
believe,  would  he  have  had  a  single  pang  of  conscience  for 
the  rascally  action  which  he  had  committed.  This  supreme 
act  of  scoundrelism  has  man  permitted  to  himself — to 
deceive  women.  When  we  consider  how  he  has  availed 
himself  of  the  privilege  so  created  by  him,  indeed 
one  may  sympathize  with  the  advocates  of  woman's  rights 
who  point  out  this  monstrous  wrong.  We  have  read  of  that 
wretched  woman  of  old  whom  the  pious  Pharisees  were  for 
stoning  incontinently ;  but  we  don't  hear  that  they  made 
any  outcry  against  the  man  who  was  concerned  in  the 
crime.  Where  was  he  ?  Happy,  no  doubt,  and  easy  in 
mind,  and  regaling  some  choice  friends  over  a  bottle  with 
the  history  of  his  success. 

Being  thus  injured  then,  j\Ir.  Brandon  longed  for  revenge. 
How  should  he  repay  these  impertinent  young  women  for 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  47 

slighting  his  addresses  ?  '•  Pardi,'^  said  he  ;  '•  just  to  punish 
their  pride  and  insolence,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  make  love 
to  their  sister." 

He  did  not,  however,  for  some  time  condescend  to  per- 
form this  threat.  Eagles  such  as  Brandon  do  not  sail  down 
from  the  clouds  in  order  to  pounce  upon  small  flies,  and  soar 
airwards  again,  contented  with  such  an  ignoble  booty.  In 
a  word,  he  never  gave  a  minute's  thought  to  Miss  Caroline, 
until  further  circumstances  occurred  which  caused  tliis 
great  man  to  consider  her  as  an  object  somewhat  worthy  of 
his  remark. 

The  violent  affection  suddenly  exhibited  by  jMr.  Fitch, 
the  painter,  towards  poor  little  Caroline  was  the  point 
which  determined  Brandon  to  begin  to  act. 

"  My  dear  Yiscouxt  "  (wrote  lie  to  the  same  Lord  C'inqbars  wlioin 
he  formerly  addressed)  —  '*  Give  me  joy  ;  for  in  a  week's  time  it'  is  my 
intention  to  be  violently  in  love,  — and  love  is  no  small  amusement  in 
a  watering-place  in  winter. 

"  I  told  you  about  the  fair  Juliana  Gann  and  her  family.  I  forgot 
whether  I  mentioned  how  the  Juliana  had  two  fair  daughters,  the 
liosaliud  and  the  Isabella;  and  another,  Caroline  by  name,  not  so 
good-looking  as  her  half-sisters,  but,  nevertheless,  a  pleasing  young 
person. 

'*  Well,  when  I  came  hither,  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  fall  in  love 
with  the  two  handsomest;  and  did  so.  taking  many  walks  with  them, 
talking  nuich  nonsense;  passing  long  dismal  evenings  over  horrid  tea 
with  them  and  their  mamma:  laying  regular  siege,  in  fact,  to  these 
Margate  beauties,  who.  according  to  the  common  rule  in  such  cases, 
could  not,  I  thought,  last  long. 

"Miserable  deception  I  disgusting  aiistocratic  blindness!"  (Mr.  Bran- 
don always  assumed  that  his  own  high  birth  and  eminent  position 
were  granted.)  "Would  you  believe  it.  that  I,  who  have  seen, 
fouirht.  and  conquered  in  so  many  places,  should  have  been  ignomini- 
ously  defeated  here?  Just  as  American  Jackson  defeated  our  Pen- 
insular veterans,  I.  an  old  Continental  conqueror  too.  have  been  over- 
come by  this  ignoble  enemy.  These  women  have  intrenched  them- 
selves so  firmly  in  their  vulgarity,  that  I  have  been  beaten  back  several 
times  with  disijrace.  being  quite  unable  to  make  an  impression.  The 
monsters,  too.  keep  up  a  dreadful  fire  fiom  behind  their  inti-enchments; 
and  besides  have  raised  the  whole  country  against  me:  in  a  word,  all 
the  snobs  of  their  acquaintance  are  in  arms.  Theie  is  Bob  Smith,  the 
linendraper;  Harry  Jones,  who  keeps  the  fancy  tea-shop;  young 
Glaubei".  the  apothecary;  and  sundiy  other  persons,  who  are  ready  to 
eat  me  when  they  see  me  in  the  streets;  and  are  all  at  the  beck  of  the 
victorious  Amazons. 

"  IIow  is  a  gentleman  to  make  head  against  such  a  cmiaillp  as  this? 
—  a  resndar  jncquprip.  Once  or  twice  I  have  tliouirht  of  retreating; 
but  a  retreat,  for  sundry  rea^^ons  I  have,  is  ineonveuieiit.  I  can't  go 
to  London;  I  am  known  at  Dover;  I  believe  there  is  a  bill  against  me 
Sit  Canterbury;  at  Chatham  there  are  sundry  quartered  regiments 


48  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

whose  recognition  I  should  be  unwilling  to  risk.     I  must  stay  here  — 
and  be  banged  to  the  place  —  until  my  better  star  shall  rise. 

"But  I  am  determined  that  my  stay  shall  be  to  some  purpose,  and 
so  to  show  how  persevering  I  am,  1  shall  make  one  more  trial  upon 
the  third  daughter,  —  yes,  upon  the  third  daughter,  a  family  Cinderella, 
who  shall,  I  am  determined,  make  her  sisters  crever  with  envy.  I 
merely  mean  fun,  you  know  —  not  mischief,  —  for  Cinderella  is  but  a 
little  child:  and,  besides,  I  am  the  most  harmless  fellow  breathing, 
but  must  liave  my  joke.  Now  Cinderella  has  a  lover,  the  bearded 
l^ainter  of  whom  1  si)oke  to  you  in  a  former  letter.  He  has  lately 
plunged  into  the  most  extraordinary  fits  of  passion  for  her,  and  is  more 
mad  than  even  he  was  before.  W  oe  betide  you,  O  painter  !  I  have 
nothing  to  do:  a  month  to  do  that  nothing  in;  in  that  time,  mark  my 
words,  1  will  laugh  at  that  i^ainter's  beard.  Sliould  you  like  a  lock  of 
it,  or  a  sofa  stuffed  with  it  ?  there  is  beard  enough:  or  should  you  like 
to  see  a  specimen  of  poor  little  Cinderella's  golden  ringlets  ?  Conmiand 
your  slave.  I  wish  I  had  paper  enough  to  write  you  an  account  of  a 
grand  Gann  dinner  at  whicli  I  assisted,  and  of  a  scene  which  there 
took  place;  and  bow  Cinderella  was  dressed  out,  not  by  a  fairy,  but  by 
a  charitable  kitchen-maid,  and  was  turned  out  of  the  room  by  her  in- 
dignant mamma,  for  appearing  in  the  scullion's  finery.  But  my  forte 
does  not  lie  in  such  descriptions  of  polite  life.  We  drank  port,  and 
toasts  after  dinner:  here  is  tlie  Dienu,  and  the  names  and  order  of  the 
eaters." 

The  bill  of  fare  has  been  given  already  and  need  not, 
therefore,  be  again  laid  before  the  public. 

''  What  a  fellow  that  is  !  "  said  young  Lord  Cinqbars,  read- 
ing the  letter  to  his  friends,  and  in  a  profound  admiration  of 
his  tutor's  genius. 

"  And  to  think  that  he  was  a  reading  man  too,  and  took  a 
double  first,"  cried  another ;  "  why,  the  man's  an  Admirable 
Crichton." 

'•Upon  my  life,  though,  he's  a  little  too  bad,"  said  a  third, 
who  was  a  moralist.  And  with  this  a  fresh  bowl  of  milk- 
punch  came  reeking  from  the  college  butteries,  and  the  jo- 
vial party  discussed  that. 


CHAPTER  V. 


COXTAIXS    A    GREAT    DEAL    OF    COMPLICATED    LOVE-MAKIXG. 


HE  ]Misses  Macarty  were  ex- 
cessively indignant  that  Mr. 
Eitch  should  have  had  the 
'  audacit}^  to  fall  in  love  with 
their  sister ;  and  j)Oor  Caro- 
line's life  was  not,  as  may 
be  imagined,  made  much 
the  happier  by  the  envy 
and  passion  thus  excited. 
Mr.  Eitch 's  amour  was  the 
source  of  a  great  deal  of  pain 
to  her.  Her  mother  would 
tauntingly  say  that  as  both 
were  beggars,  they  could 
not  do  better  than  marry ; 
and  declared,  in  the  same 
satirical  way,  that  she 
should  like  nothing  better  than  to  see  a  large  family  of 
grandchildren  about  her,  to  be  plagues  and  burdens  upon 
her,  as  her  daughter  was.  The  short  way  would  have  been, 
when  the  young  painter's  intentions  were  manifest,  which 
they  pretty  speedily  were,  to  have  requested  him  immedi- 
ately to  quit  the  house ;  or,  as  Mr.  Gann  said,  "  to  give  him 
the  sack  at  once;"  to  which  measure  the  worthy  man  indig- 
nantly avowed  that  he  would  have  resort.  But  his  lady 
would  not  allow  of  any  such  rudeness ;  although,  for  her 
part,  she  professed  the  strongest  scorn  and  contempt  for  the 
piinter.  Eor  the  painful  fact  must  be  stated :  Eitch  had  a 
sliort  time  previously  paid  no  less  a  sum  than  a  whole  quar- 
ter's board  and  lodging  in  advance,  at  ^Irs.  Gann's  humble 
request,  and  he  possessed  his  landlady's  receipt  for  that 
sum ;  the  mention  of  which  circumstance  silenced  Gann's 
objections  at  once.  And  indeed,  it  is  pretty  certain  that, 
with  all  her  taunts  to  her  daughter  and  just  abuse  of  Eitch's 
VOL.  I.  —  4  49 


50  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

poverty,  Mrs.  Gann  in  her  heart  was  not  altogether  averse 
to  the  match.  In  the  first  place,  she  loved  match-making ; 
next,  she  would  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  her  daughter  at  any 
rate ;  and,  besides.  Fitch's  aunt,  the  auctioneer's  wife,  was 
rich,  and  had  no  children ;  painters,  as  she  had  heard,  make 
often  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  Fitch  might  be  a  clever 
one,  for  aught  she  knew.  So  he  was  allowed  to  remain  in 
the  house,  an  undeclared  but  very  assiduous  lover ;  and  to 
sigh,  and  to  moan,  and  make  verses  and  portraits  of  his  be- 
loved, and  build  castles  in  the  air  as  best  he  might.  In- 
deed our  humble  Cinderella  was  in  a  very  curious  position. 
She  felt  a  tender  passion  for  the  first  floor,  and  was  adored 
by  the  second  floor,  and  had  to  wait  upon  both  at  the  sum- 
mons of  the  bell  of  either ;  and  as  the  poor  little  thing  was 
compelled  not  to  notice  any  of  the  sighs  and  glances  which 
the  painter  bestowed  upon  her,  she  also  had  schooled  her- 
self to  maintain  a  quiet  demeanor  towards  Mr.  Brandon,  and 
not  allow  him  to  discover  the  secret  which  was  laboring  in 
her  little  breast. 

I  think  it  may  be  laid  down  as  a  pretty  general  rule,  that 
most  romantic  little  girls  of  Caroline's  age  have  such  a  bud- 
ding sentiment  as  this  young  person  entertained ;  quite 
innocent  of  course  ;  nourished  and  talked  of  in  delicious  se- 
crecy to  the  confidante  of  the  hour.  Or  else  what  are  nov- 
els made  for  ?  Had  Caroline  read  of  Valancourt  and  Emily 
for  nothing,  or  gathered  no  good  example  from  those  five 
tear-fraught  volumes  which  describe  the  loves  of  Miss 
Helen  ^lar  and  Sir  William  Wallace  ?  Many  a  time  had 
she  depicted  Brandon  in  a  fancy  costume,  such  as  the  fas- 
cinating Valancourt  wore ;  or  painted  herself  as  Helen, 
trying  a  sash  round  her  knight's  cuirass,  and  watching  him 
forth  to  battle.  Silly  fancies,  no  doubt;  but  consider, 
madam,  the  poor  girl's  age  and  education ;  the  only  instruc- 
tion she  had  ever  received  was  from  these  tender,  kind- 
hearted,  silly  books:  the  only  happiness  which  Fate  had  al- 
lowed her  was  in  this  little  silent  world  of  fancy.  It  would 
be  hard  to  grudge  the  poor  thing  her  dreams ;  and  many 
such  did  she  have,  and  impart  blushingly  to  honest  Becky, 
as  they  sat  by  the  humble  kitchen-fire. 

Although  it  cost  her  heart  a  great  pang,  she  had  once  ven- 
tured to  implore  her  mother  not  to  send  her  upstairs  to  the 
lodgers'  rooms,  for  she  shrunk  at  the  notion  of  the  occurrence 
that  Brandon  should  discover  her  regard  for  him  ;  but  this 
point  had  never  entered  Mrs.  Gann's  sagacious  head.     She 


A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STOBV.  51 

thought  her  daughter  wished  to  avoid  Fitch,  and  sternly 
bade  her  to  do  her  duty,  and  not  give  herself  such  imperti- 
nent airs;  and,  indeed,  it  can't  be  said  that  poor  Caioline 
was  very  sorry  at  being  compelled  to  continue  to  see  Bran- 
don. To  do  both  gentlemen  justice,  neither  ever  said  a  word 
unht  for  Caroline  to  hear.  Fitch  would  have  been  torn  to 
pieces  by  a  thousand  wild  horses,  rather  than  liave  breathed 
a  single  syllable  to  hurt  her  feelings  ;  and  Brandon,  though 
by  no  means  so  squeamish  on  ordinary  occasions,  was  in- 
nately a  gentleman,  and  from  taste  rather  than  from  virtue 
was  carefully  respectful  in  his  behavior  to  her. 

As  for  the  Misses  Macarty  themselves,  it  has  been  stated 
that  they  had  already  given  away  their  hearts  several  times ; 
Miss  Isabella  being  at  this  moment  attached  to  a  certain 
young  wine-merchant,  and  to  Lieutenant  or  Colonel  Swab- 
ber of  the  Spanish  service;  and  Miss  Rosalind  having  a  de- 
cided fondness  for  a  foreign  nobleman,  with  black  musta- 
chios,  who  had  paid  a  visit  to  Margate.  Of  Miss  Bella's 
lovers,  Swabber  had  disappeared ;  but  she  still  met  the 
wine-merchant  pretty  often,  and  it  is  believed  had  gone  very 
nigh  to  accept  him.  As  for  Miss  Eosalind,  I  am  sorry 
to  say  that  the  course  of  her  true  love  ran  by  no  means 
smoothly  ;  the  Frenchman  had  turned  out  to  be  not  a  mar- 
quess, but  a  billiard-marker;  and  a  sad,  sore  subject  the  dis- 
ap]K)intnient  was  with  the  neglected  lady. 

We  should  have  spoken  of  it  long  since,  had  the  subject 
been  one  that  was  much  canvassed  in  the  Gann  family ;  but 
once  Avhen  Gann  had  endeavored  to  rally  his  step-daughter 
on  this  unfortunate  attachment  (using  for  the  j)urpose  those 
delicate  terms  of  wit  for  which  the  honest  gentleman  was 
always  famous),  ]\Iiss  Linda  had  flown  into  such  a  violent 
fury,  and  comported  herself  in  a  way  so  dreadful,  that  James 
Gann,  Esquire,  was  fairly  frightened  out  of  his  wits  by  the 
threats,  screams,  and  imprecations  Avhich  she  uttered.  Miss 
Bella,  who  was  disposed  to  be  jocose  likewise,  was  likewise 
awed  into  silence ;  for  her  dear  sister  talked  of  tearing  her 
eyes  out  that  minute,  and  uttered  some  hints,  too,  regarding 
love-matters  personally  affecting  Miss  Bella  herself,  which 
caused  that  young  lady  to  turn  pale-red,  to  mutter  some- 
thing about  "  wicked  lies,"  and  to  leave  the  room  immedi- 
ately. Kor  was  the  subject  ever  again  broached  by  the 
Ganns.  Even  when  ^Frs.  Gann  once  talked  about  that  odi- 
ous French  im poster,  she  was  stopped  immediately,  not  by 
the  lady  concerned,  but  by  Miss  Bella,  who  cried,  sharply, 


52  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

"  Mamma,  hold  your  tongue,  and  don't  vex  our  dear  Linda 
by  alluding  to  any  sucli  stuff."  It  is  most  probable  that  the 
young  ladies  had  had  a  private  conference,  which,  beginning 
a  little  fiercely  at  first,  had  ended  amicably :  and  so  the  mar- 
quess was  mentioned  no  more. 

Miss  Linda,  then,  was  comparatively  free  (for  Bob  Smith, 
the  linendraper,  and  young  Glauber,  the  apothecary,  went  for 
nothing) ;  and,  very  luckily  for  her,  a  successor  was  found 
for  the  faithless  Frenchman,  almost  immediately. 

This  gentleman  was  a  commoner,  to  be  sure ;  but  had  a 
good  estate  of  five  hundred  a  year,  kept  his  horse  and  gig, 
and  was,  as  Mr.  Gann  remarked,  as  good  a  fellow  as  ever 
lived.  Let  us  say  at  once  that  the  new  lover  was  no  other 
than  Mr.  Swigby.  From  the  day  when  he  had  been  intro- 
duced to  the  family  he  appeared  to  be  very  much  attracted 
by  the  two  sisters ;  sent  a  turkey  off  his  own  farm,  and  six 
bottles  of  prime  Hollands,  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gann  in  pres- 
ents ;  and,  in  ten  short  days  after  his  first  visit,  had  in- 
formed his  friend  Gann  that  he  was  violently  in  love  with 
two  women  whose  names  he  would  never  —  never  breathe. 
The  worthy  Gann  knew  right  Avell  how  the  matter  was ;  for 
he  had  not  failed  to  remark  Swigby's  melancholy,  and  to 
attribute  it  to  its  right  cause. 

Swigby  was  forty-eight  years  of  age,  stout,  hearty,  gay, 
much  given  to  drink,  and  had  never  been  a  lady's  man,  or, 
indeed,  passed  half  a  dozen  evenings  in  ladies'  society.  He 
thought  Gann  the  noblest  and  finest  fellow  in  the  world.  He 
never  heard  any  singing  like  James's,  nor  any  jokes  like 
his ;  nor  had  met  with  such  an  accomplished  gentleman  or 
man  of  the  world.  "  Gann  has  his  faults,"  Swigby  would 
say  at  the  "  Bag  of  ISTails  " ;  "  which  of  us  has  not  ?  —  but  I 
tell  you  what,  he's  the  greatest  trump  I  ever  see."  Many 
scores  of  scores  had  he  paid  for  Gann,  many  guineas  and 
crown-pieces  had  he  lent  him,  since  he  came  into  his  prop- 
erty some  three  years  before.  What  were  Swigby's  former 
pursuits  I  can't  tell.  What  need  we  care  ?  Hadn't  he  five 
hundred  a  year  now,  and  a  horse  and  gig  ?  Ay,  that  he 
had. 

Since  his  accession  to  fortune,  this  gay  young  bachelor 
had  taken  his  share  (what  he  called  "  his  whack  ")  of  pleas- 
ure; had  been  at  one  —  nay,  perhaps,  at  two — public-houses 
every  night ;  and  had  been  tipsy,  I  make  no  doubt,  nearly  a 
thousand  times  in  the  course  of  the  three  years.  Many  peo- 
ple had  tried  to  cheat  him ;  but,  no,  no !  he  knew  what  was 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  53 

what,  and  in  all  matters' of  money  Avas  simple  and  shrewd. 
Gann's  gentility  won  him ;  his  bragging,  his  ton,  and  the 
stylish  tuft  on  his  chin.  To  be  invited  to  his  house  was  a 
proud  moment ;  and  when  he  went  away,  after  the  banquet 
described  in  the  last  chapter,  he  was  in  a  perfect  ferment 
of  love  and  liquor. 


"What  a  stylish  woman  is  that  Mrs.  Gann  !  "  thought  he, 
as  he  tumbled  into  bed  at  his  inn ;  "fine  she  must  have  been 
as  a  "-al '  fourteen  stone  now,  without  saddle  or  bridle,  and 
no  mistake.  And  them  Miss  Macartys :  Jupiter !  what  spank- 
ing, handsome,  elegant  creatures  '.  —  real  elegance  m  both  on 
'em' '  Such  hair  !  —  black's  the  word  —  as  black  as  my  mare ; 
such  cheeks,  such  necks,  and  shoulders  ! "  At  noon  he  re- 
peated these  observations  to  Gann  himself,  as  he  walked  up 
and  down  the  pier  with  that  gentleman,  smoking  Manilla 


54  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

cheroots.  He  was  in  raptures  with  his  evening.  Gann  re- 
ceived his  praises  with  much  majestic  good-humor. 

"Blood,  sir!"  said  he,  "blood's  everything!  Them  gals 
have  been  brought  up  as  few  ever  have.  I  don't  speak  of 
myself ;  but  their  mother  —  their  mother's  a  lady,  sir.  Show 
me  a  woman  in  England  as  is  better  bred  or  knows  the 
world  more  than  my  Juliana !  " 

"It's  impawssible,"  said  Swigby. 

"  Think  of  the  company  we've  kep',  sir,  before  our  misfor- 
tunes —  the  fust  in  the  land.  Brandenburg  House,  sir,  — 
England's  injured  queen.  Law  bless  you!  Juliana  was 
always  there." 

"'  I  make  no  doubt,  sir ;  you  can  see  it  in  her,"  said  Swigby, 
solemnly. 

"  And  as  for  those  gals,  why,  ain't  they  related  to  the  fust 
families  in  Ireland,  sir  ?  —  In  course  they  are.  As  I  said  be- 
fore, blood's  everything ;  and  those  young  women  have  the 
best  of  it ;  they  are  connected  with  the  reg'lar  old  noblesse." 

"  They  have  the  best  of  everythink,  I'm  sure,"  said  Swigby, 
"  and  deserve  it,  too,"  and  relapsed  into  his  morning  remarks. 
"  What  creatures  !  what  elegance  !  what  hair  and  eyes,  sir ! 

—  black,  and  all's  black,  as  I  say.     What  complexion,  sir ! 

—  ay,  and  what  makes,  too  !  Such  a  neck  and  shoulders  I 
never  see  ! " 

Gann,  who  had  his  hands  in  his  pockets  (his  friend's  arm 
being  hooked  into  one  of  his),  here  suddenly  withdrew  his 
hand  from  its  hiding-place,  clenched  his  hst,  assumed  a 
horrible  knowing  grin,  and  gave  Mr.  Swigby  such  a  blow  in 
the  ribs  as  well-nigh  sent  him  into  the  water.  "You  sly 
dog!"  said  Mr.  Gann,  with  inexpressible  emphasis  ;  "you've 
found  that  out,  too,  have  you  ?     Have  a  care,  Joe,  my  boy, 

—  have  a  care." 

And  herewith  Gann  and  Joe  burst  into  tremendous  roars 
of  laughter,  fresh  explosions  taking  place  at  intervals  of  five 
minutes  during  the  rest  of  the  walk.  The  two  friends  parted 
exceedingly  happy  ;  and  when  they  met  that  evening  at 
"  The  Nails,"  Gann  drew  Swigby  mysteriously  into  the  bar, 
and  thrust  into  his  hand  a  triangular  piece  of  pink  paper, 
which  the  latter  read  :  — 

"  Mrs.  Gann  and  the  Misses  Macarty  request  the  honor  and  pleasure 
of  Mr.  Swigby's  company  (if  you  have  no  better  engagement)  to  tea 
to-morrow  evening,  at  half-past  five. 
"  Margaketta  Cottage,  Sat.amaxca  Road  North, 
Thursday  evening." 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  55 

The  faces  of  the  two  gentlemen  were  wonderfully  expres- 
sive of  satisfaction  as  this  communication  passed  between 
them.  And  I  am  led  to  believe  that  Mrs.  Gann  had  been 
unusually  pleased  with  her  husband's  conduct  on  that  day, 
for  honest  James  had  no  less  than  thirteen  and  sixpence  in 
his  pocket,  and  insisted,  as  usual,  upon  standing  glasses  all 
round.  Joe  Swigby,  left  alone  in  the  little  parlor  behind 
the  bar,  called  for  a  sheet  of  paper,  a  new  pen  and  a  wafer, 
and  in  the  space  of  half  an  hour  concocted  a  very  spirited 
and  satisfactory  answer  to  this  note ;  which  was  carried  off 
by  Gann,  and  duly  delivered.  Punctually  at  half-past  live 
Mr.  Joseph  Swigby  knocked  at  Margaretta  Cottage  door,  in 
his  new  coat  with  glistering  brass  buttons,  his  face  clean- 
shaved,  and  his  great  eai-s  shining  over  his  great  shirt-collar 
delightfully  bright  and  red. 

What  happened  at  this  tea-party  it  is  needless  here  to  say ; 
but  Swigby  came  away  from  it  quite  as  much  enchanted  as 
before,  and  declared  that  the  duets  sung  by  the  ladies  in 
hideous  discord  were  the  sweetest  music  lie  had  ever  heard. 
He  sent  the  gin  and  the  turkey  the  next  day  ;  and,  of  course, 
was  invited  to  dine. 

The  dinner  was  followed  up  on  his  part  by  an  offer  to 
drive  all  the  young  ladies  and  their  mamma  into  the  country ; 
and  he  hired  a  very  smart  barouche  to  conduct  them.  The 
invitation  was  not  declined  ;  and  Fitch,  too,  was  asked  by 
Mr.  Swigby,  in  the  height  of  his  good-humor,  and  accepted 
with  the  utmost  delight.  "  ]\Ie  and  Joe  will  go  on  the  box," 
said  Gann.  ''  You  four  ladies  and  Mr.  Fitch  shall  go  inside. 
Carry  must  go  bodkin  ;  but  she  ain't  very  big." 

"  Carrj^,  indeed,  will  stop  at  home,"  said  her  mamma ; 
"  she's  not  fit  to  go  out." 

At  which  poor  Fitch's  jaw  fell ;  it  was  in  order  to  ride 
with  her  that  he  had  agreed  to  accompany  the  party ;  nor 
could  he  escape  now,  having  just  promised  so  eagerly. 

"Oh,  don't  let's  have  that  proud  Brandon,"  said  the  young 
ladies,  when  the  good-natured  Mr.  Swigby  proposed  to  ask 
that  gentleman;  and  therefore  he  was  not  invited  to  join 
them  in  their  excursion  :  but  he  stayed  at  home  very  uncon- 
cernedly, and  saw  the  barouche  and  its  load  drive  off. 
Somebody  else  looked  at  it  from  the  parlor-window  with 
rather  a  heavy  heart,  and  that  some  one  was  poor  Caroline- 
The  day  was  bright  and  sunshiny  ;  the  spring  was  beginning 
early ;  it  would  have  been  pleasant  to  have  been  a  lady  for 
once,  and  to  have  driven  along  in  a  carriage  with  prancing 


56  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

horses.  Mr.  Fitch  looked  after  her.  in  a  very  sheepish, 
melancholy  way ;  and  was  so  dismal  and  silly  during  the 
hrst  part  of  the  journey,  that  Miss  Linda,  who  was  next  to 
him,  said  to  her  papa  that  she  would  change  places  with  him ; 
and  actually  mounted  the  box  by  the  side  of  the  happy, 
trembling  Mr.  Swigby.  How  proud  he  was,  to  be  sure  ! 
How  knowingly  did  he  spank  the  horses  along,  and  flhig  out 
the  shillings  at  the  turnpikes  ! 

"  Bless  you,  he  don't  care  for  change  ! "  said  Gann,  as  one 
of  the  toll-takers  offered  to  render  some  coppers ;  and  Joe 
felt  infinitely  obliged  to  his  friend  for  setting  oft'  his  amiable 
qualities  in  such  a  way. 

0  mighty  Fate,  that  over  us  miserable  mortals  rulest 
supreme,  with  what  small  means  are  thy  ends  effected  !  — 
with  what  scornful  ease  and  mean  instruments  does  it  please 
thee  to  govern  mankind  !  Let  each  man  think  of  the  circum- 
stances of  his  life,  and  how  its  lot  has  been  determined. 
The  getting  up  a  little  earlier  or  later,  the  turning  down  this 
street  or  that,  the  eating  of  this  dish  or  the  other,  may 
influence  all  the  years  and  actions  of  a  future  life.  Mankind 
Avalks  down  the  left-hand  side  of  Kegent  Street  instead  of 
the  right,  and  meets  a  friend  who  asks  him  to  dinner,  and 
goes,  and  finds  the  turtle  remarkably  good,  and  the  iced 
punch  very  cool  and  pleasant ;  and,  being  in  a  merry,  jovial, 
idle  mood,  has  no  objection  to  a  social  rubber  of  whist  — 
nay,  to  a  few  more  glasses  of  that  cool  punch.  In  the  most 
careless,  good-humored  way,  he  loses  a  few  points  ;  and  still 
feels  thirsty,  and  loses  a  few  more  points ;  and  like  a  man 
of  spirit,  increases  his  stakes,  to  be  sure,  and  just  by  that 
walk  down  Eegent  Street  is  ruined  for  life.  Or  he  walks 
down  the  right-hand  side  of  Eegent  Street  instead  of  the 
the  left,  and,  good  heavens !  Avho  is  that  charming  young 
creature  who  has  just  stepped  into  her  carriage  from  Mr. 
Fraser's  shop,  and  to  whom  and  her  mamma  Mr.  Fraser  has 
made  the  most  elegant  bow  in  the  world  ?  It  is  the  lovely 
Miss  Moidore,  with  a  hundred  thousand  pounds,  who  has 
remarked  your  elegant  figure,  and  regularly  drives  to  town 
on  the  first  of  the  month,  to  purchase  her  darling  Magazine. 
You  drive  after  her  as  fast  as  the  hack-cab  will  carry  you. 
She  reads  the  Magazine  the  whole  Avay.  She  stops  at  her 
papa's  elegant  villa  at  Hampstead,  with  a  conservatory,  a 
double  coach-house,  and  a  park-like  paddock.  As  the  lodge- 
gate  separates  you  from  that  dear  girl,  she  looks  back  just 
once,  and  blushes.     Eruhult,  salva  est  res.     She  has  blushed. 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  57 

and  3^ou  are  all  right.  lu  a  Aveek  you  are  introduced  to  the 
famil}^,  and  pronounced  a  charming  young  fellow  of  high 
principles.  In  three  weeks  you  have  danced  twenty-nine 
quadrilles  with  her  and  whisked  her  through  several  miles  of 
waltzes.  In  a  month  Mrs.  OTlahert}'  has  flung  herself  into 
the  arms  of  her  mother,  just  having  come  from  a  visit  to  the 
village  of  Gretna,  near  Carlisle  ;  and  you  have  an  account  at 
your  banker's  ever  after.  AYhat  is  the  cause  of  all  this  good 
lortune  ?  —  a  walk  on  a  particular  side  of  Kegent  Street. 
And  so  true  and  indisputable  is  this  fact  that  there's  a 
young  north-country  gentleman  with  whom  I  am  acquainted, 
that  daily  paces  up  and  down  the  above-named  street  for 
many  hours,  fully  expecting  that  such  an  adventure  will 
happen  to  him ;  for  which  end  he  keeps  a  cab  in  readiness 
at  the  corner  of  Vigo  Lane. 

Kow,  after  a  dissertation  in  this  history,  the  reader  is 
pretty  sure  to  know  that  a  moral  is  coming ;  and  the  facts 
connected  with  our  tale,  which  are  to  be  drawn  from  the 
above  little  essay  on  fate,  are  simjoly  these:  —  1.  If  ]\Ir. 
Fitch  had  not  heard  Mr.  Swigby  invite  all  the  ladies,  he 
would  have  refused  Swigby's  invitation,  and  stayed  at  home. 
2.  If  he  had  not  been  in  the  carriage,  it  is  quite  certain  that 
jSIiss  Eosalind  Macarty  would  not  have  been  seated  by  him 
on  the  back  seat.  3.  If  he  had  not  been  sulky,  she  never 
would  have  asked  her  papa  to  let  her  take  his  place  on  the 
box.  4.  If  she  had  not  taken  her  papa's  place  on  the  box, 
not  one  of  the  circumstances  would  have  happened  which 
did  happen ;  and  which  were  as  follows  :  — 

1.  ^liss  Bella  remained  inside. 

2.  Mr.  Swigby,  who  was  wavering  between  the  two,  like  a 
certain  animal  between  two  bundles  of  hay,  was  determined 
by  this  circumstance,  and  made  proposals  to  Miss  Linda, 
whispering  to  Miss  Linda  :  "  ^liss,  I  ain't  equal  to  the  like 
of  you;  but  I'm  heart}',  healthy,  and  have  live  hundred  a 
year.  Will  you  marry  me  ?  "  In  fact,  this  very  speech  had 
been  taught  him  by  cunning  Gann,  who  saw  well  enough 
that  Swigby  would  speak  to  one  or  other  of  his  daughters. 
And  to  it  the  young  lady  replied,  also  in  a  whispering, 
agitated  tone,  "  Law,  Mr.  S. !  What  an  odd  man  !  How 
can  you  ? "  And,  after  a  little  pause,  added,  ''  Speak  to 
mammal 

3.  (And  this  is  the  main  point  of  my  story.)  If  little 
Caroline  had  been  allowed  to  go  out,  she  never  would  have 
been  left  alone  with  Brandon  at  Margate.     When  Fate  wills 


58  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

that  something  should  come  to  pass,  she  sends  forth  a  mill- 
ion of  little  circumstances  to  clear  and  prepare  the  way. 

In  the  month  of  April  (as  indeed  in  half  a  score  of  other 
months  of  the  year)  the  reader  may  have  remarked  that 
the  coid  north-east  wind  is  prevalent ;  and  that  when, 
tempted  by  a  glimpse  of  sunshine,  he  issues  forth  to  take 
the  air,  he  receives  not  only  it,  but  such  a  quantity  of  it  as 
is  enough  to  keep  him  shivering  through  the  rest  of  the 
miserable  month.  On  one  of  these  happy  days  of  English 
weather  (it  was  the  very  day  before  the  pleasure-party  de- 
scribed in  the  last  chapter)  Mr.  Brandon,  cursing  heartily  his 
country,  and  thinking  how  infinitely  more  congenial  to  him 
were  the  winds  and  habits  prevalent  in  other  nations,  was 
marching  over  the  cliffs  near  Margate,  in  the  midst  of  a 
storm  of  shrill  east  wind  which  no  ordinary  mortal  could 
bear,  when  he  found  perched  on  the  cliff,  his  fingers  blue 
with  cold;  the  celebrated  Andrea  Fitch,  engaged  in  sketch- 
ing a  land  or  a  sea  scape  on  a  sheet  of  gray  paper. 

''You  have  chosen  a  fine  day  for  sketching,"  said  Mr. 
Brandon,  bitterly,  his  thin  aquiline  nose  peering  out  livid 
from  the  fur  collar  of  his  coat. 

Mr.  Fitch  smiled,  understanding  the  allusion. 

"  An  hartist,  sir,"  said  he,  "  doesn't  inind  the  coldness  of 
the  weather.  There  was  a  chap  in  the  Academy  who  took 
sketches  twenty  degrees  below  zero  in  Hiceland  — Mount 
'Ecla,  sir !  E  was  the  man  who  gave  the  first  hidea  of 
Mount  'Ecla  for  the  Surrey  Zoological  Gardens." 

"He  must  have  been  a  wonderful  enthusiast !  "  said  Mr. 
Brandon  ;  "  I  fancy  that  most  would  prefer  to  sit  at  home, 
and  not  numb  their  fingers  in  such  a  freezing  storm  as 
this  !  " 

"  Storm,  sir  ! "  replied  Fitch,  majestically  ;  "  I  live  in  a 
storm,  sir !  A  true  hartist  is  never  so  'appy  as  when  he 
can  have  the  advantage  to  gaze  upon  yonder  tempestuous 
hocean  in  one  of  its  hangry  moods." 

'' A}^,  there  comes  the  steamer,"  answered  Mr.  Brandon  ; 
"  I  can  fancy  that  there  are  a  score  of  unhappy  people  on 
board  who  are  not  artists,  and  would  wish  to  behold  your 
ocean  quiet." 

"  They  are  not  poets,  sir  :  the  glorious  hever-changing  ex> 
pression  of  the  great  countenance  of  Nature  is  not  seen  by 
them.  I  should  consider  myself  unworthy  of  my  hart,  if  I 
could  not  bear  a  little  privation  of  cold  or  'eat  for  its  sake. 
And  besides,  sir,  v/hatever  their  hardships  may  be,  such  a 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  59 

sight  liamply  repays  me ;  for,  though  my  private  sorrows 
may  be  (lias  tliey  are)  tremeiulous,  1  never  can  look  abroad 
upon  the  green  hearth  and  hawful  sea,  without  in  a  meas- 
ure forgetting  my  personal  woes  and  wrongs  ;  for  what  right 
has  a  poor  creature  like  me  to  think  of  his  affairs  in  the 
presence  of  such  a  spectacle  as  this  ?  I  can't,  sir ;  I  feel 
ashamed  of  myself  ;  I  bow  ui}^  'ead  and  am  quiet.  When  I 
set  m3'self  to  examining  hart,  sir  (by  which  I  mean  nature), 
I  don't  dare  to  think  of  anything  else." 

"You  worship  a  very  charming  and  consoling  mis- 
tress," answered  Mr.  Brandon,  with  a  supercilious  air, 
lighting  and  beginning  to  smoke  a  cigar ;  "  your  enthusiasm 
does  you  credit." 

"  If  you  have  another,"  said  Andrea  Fitch,  "  I  should  like 
to  smoke  one,  for  you  seem  to  have  a  real  feeling  about 
hart,  and  I  was  a-getting  so  deucedly  cold  here,  that  really 
there  was  scarcely  any  bearing  of  it." 

''The  cold  is  very  severe,"  replied  Mr.  Brandon. 

"No,  no,  it's  not  the  weather,  sir !  "  said  Mr.  Fitch  ;  "it's 
here,  sir,  here  "  (pointing  to  the  left  side  of  his  waistcoat). 

"  What !  you,  too,  have  had  sorrows  ?  " 

"Sorrows,  sir!  hagonies  —  hagouies,  which  I  have  never 
unfolded  to  any  mortal !  I  have  hendured  halmost  hevery- 
thing.  Poverty,  sir,  'unger,  hobloquy,  'opeless  love  !  but 
for  my  hart,  sir,  I  should  be  the  most  miserable  wretch  in 
the  world !  " 

And  herewith  Mr.  Fitch  began  to  pour  forth  into  ]\Ir. 
Brandon's  ears  the  history  of  some  of  those  sorrows  under 
which  he  labored,  and  which  he  communicated  to  every  sin- 
gle person  who  would  listen  to  him. 

^Ir.  Brandon  was  greatly  amused  by  Fitch's  prattle,  and 
the  latter  told  him  under  what  privations  he  had  studied  his 
art :  how  he  had  starved  for  three  years  in  Paris  and  Pome, 
while  laboring  at  his  ])rofession ;  how  meaidy  jealous  the 
Poyal  Academy  was  which  would  never  exhibit  a  single  one 
of  his  pictures ;  how  he  had  been  driven  from  the  Heternal 
City  by  the  attentions  of  an  immense  fat  ]\[rs.  Carrickfer- 
gus,  who  absolutely  proposed  marriage  to  him ;  and  how  he 
was  at  this  moment  (a  fact  of  which  ]Mr.  Brandon  was  al- 
ready quite  aware)  madl}^  and  desperately  in  love  with  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  maidens  in  this  world.  For  Fitch, 
having  a  mistress  to  his  heart's  desire,  was  boiling  with  im- 
patience to  have  a  confidant ;  what  indeed  would  be  the  joy 
of  love  if  Ave  were  not  allowed  to  sneak  of  one's  feelin.irs  to 


60  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

a  friend  who  could  know  how  to  sympathize  with  them? 
Fitch  was  sure  Brandon  did,  because  Brandon  was  the  very 
hrst  person  with  whom  the  painter  had  talked  since  he  had 
come  to  the  resolution  recorded  in  the  last  chapter. 

"  I  hope  she  is  as  rich  as  that  unlucky  Mrs.  Carrickfergus, 
whom  you  treated  so  cruelly  ?  "  said  the  confidant,  affecting 
entire  ignorance. 

"  Kich,  sir  ?  no,  I  thank  heaven,  she  has  not  a  penny  ! " 
said  Fitch. 

"  I  presume,  then,  you  are  yourself  independent,"  said 
Brandon,  smiling ;  "  for  in  the  marriage  state,  one  or  the 
other  of  the  parties  concerned  should  bring  a  portion  of  the 
filthy  lucre." 

"Haven't  I  my  profession,  sir?"  said  Fitch,  majestically, 
having  declared  five  minutes  before  that  he  starved  in  his 
profession.  "  Do  you  suppose  a  painter  gets  nothing  ? 
Haven't  I  borders  from  the  first  people  in  Europe  ?  —  com- 
missions, sir,  to  hexecute  'i story-pieces,  battle-pieces,  lialtar- 
pieces  ?  " 

"Masterpieces,  I  am  sure,"  said  Brandon,  bowing  po- 
litely ;  "  for  a  gentleman  of  your  astonishing  genius  can  do 
no  other." 

The  delighted  artist  received  this  compliment  with  many 
blushes,  and  vowed  and  protested  that  his  performances 
were  not  really  worthy  of  such  high  praise ;  but  he  fancied 
Mr.  Brandon  a  great  connoisseur,  nevertheless,  and  unbur- 
dened his  mind  to  him  in  a  manner  still  more  open.  Fitch's 
sketch  was  by  this  time  finished;  and,  putting  his  drawing 
implements  together,  he  rose,  and  the  gentlemen  walked 
away.  The  sketch  was  hugely  admired  by  Mr.  Brandon, 
and  when  they  came  home,  Fitch,  culling  it  dexterously  out 
of  his  book,  presented  it  in  a  neat  speech  to  his  friend,  "  the 
gifted  hamateur." 

"  The  gifted  hamateur  "  received  the  drawing  with  a  pro- 
fusion of  thanks,  and  so  much  did  he  value  it  that  he  had 
actually  torn  off  a  piece  to  light  a  cigar  with,  when  he  saw 
that  words  were  written  on  the  other  side  of  the  pa^^er,  and 
deciphered  the  following  :  — 

"SONG  OF  THE  VIOLET. 

"  A  humble  flower  long  time  I  pined, 
Upon  the  solitary  plain. 
And  trembled  at  the  angry  wind, 
And  shrunk  before  the  bitter  rain. 


.      A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  61 

And,  oh!  'twas  in  a  Ijlessed  hour, 
A  passing  wanderer  clianced  to  see 

And,  pitying  the  lonely  tlower, 
To  stoop  and  gather  me. 

"  I  fear  no  more  the  tempest  rude, 

On  dreary  heath  no  more  I,  pine, 
But  left  my  cheerless  solitude, 

To  deck  the  breast  of  Caroline. 
Alas!  our  days  are  brief  at  best, 

Xor  long  1  fear  will  mine  endure, 
Though  shelter' d  here  upon  a  breast 

So  gentle  and  so  pure. 

"  It  draws  the  fragrance  from  my  leaves, 
It  robs  me  of  my  sweetest  breath; 
And  every  time  it  falls  and  heaves. 
It  warns  me  of  my  coming  death. 
But  one  I  know  would  glad  forego 

All  joys  of  life  to  be  as  I; 
An  hour  to  rest  on  that  sweet  breast, 
And  then,  contented,  die. 

*' Andkea." 

When  Mr.  Brandon  had  finished  the  perusal  of  these 
verses,  he  laid  them  down  with  an  air  of  considerable  vex- 
ation. "Egad!"  said  he,  "this  fellow,  fool  as  he  is,  is  not 
so  great  a  fool  as  he  seems ;  and  if  he  goes  on  this  way, 
may  finish  by  turning  the  girl's  head.  They  can't  resist  a 
man  if  he  but  presses  hard  enough  —  I  know  they  can't !  " 
And  here  Mr.  Brandon  mused  over  his  various  experience, 
which  confirmed  his  observation,  that  be  a  man  ever  so  silly, 
a  gentlewoman  will  yield  to  him  out  of  sheer  weariness. 
And  he  thought  of  several  cases,  in  which,  by  the  persever- 
ing application  of  copies  of  verses,  young  ladies  had  been 
brought  from  dislike  to  sufferance  of  a  man,  from  sufferance 
to  partiality,  and  from  partiality  to  St.  George's,  Hanover 
Square.  "  A  ruffian  who  murders  his  7t's  to  carry  off  such 
a  delicate  little  creature  as  that !  "  cried  he  in  a  transport : 
"  it  shall  never  be  if  I  can  prevent  it ! "  He  thought  Caro- 
line more  and  more  beautiful  every  instant,  and  was  himself 
by  this  time  almost  as  much  in  love  with  her  as  Fitch 
himself. 

Mr.  Brandon,  then,  saw  Eitch  depart  in  Swigby's  carriage 
with  no  ordinary  feelings  of  pleasure.  Miss  Caroline  was 
not  with  them.  "  Xow  is  my  time  ! "  thought  Brandon  ;  and 
ringing  the  bell,  he  inquired  with  some  anxiety,  from  Becky, 
where  Miss  Caroline  was  ?     It  must  be  confessed  that  mis- 


62  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY, 

tress  and  maid  were  at  their  usual  occujjation,  working  and 
reading  novels  in  the  back-parlor,  Poor  Carry  !  what  other 
pleasure  had  she  ? 

She  had  not  gone  through  many  pages,  or  Becky  advanced 
many  stitches  in  the  darning  of  that  table-cloth  which  the 
good  housewife,  Mrs.  Gann,  had  confided  to  her  charge, 
when  an  humble  knock  was  heard  at  the  door  of  the 
sitting-room,  that  caused  the  blushing  Caroline  to  tremble 
and  drop  her  book,  as  Miss  Lydia  Languish  does  in  the 
play. 

Mr.  George  Brandon  entered  with  a  very  demure  air.  He 
held  in  his  liand  a  black  satin  neck-scarf,  of  which  a  part 
had  come  to  be  broken.  He  could  not  wear  it  in  its  present 
condition,  that  was  evident;  but  Miss  Caroline  was  blush- 
ing and  trembling  a  great  deal  too  much  to  suspect  that 
this  wicked  Brandon  had  himself  torn  his  own  scarf  with 
his  own  hands  one  moment  before  he  entered  the  room.  I 
don't  know  whether  Becky  had  any  suspicions  of  this  fact, 
or  whether  it  is  only  the  ordinary  roguish  look  which  she 
had  when  anything  pleased  her,  that  now  lighted  up  her 
eyes  and  caused  her  mouth  to  expand  smilingly,  and  her 
fat  red  cheeks  to  gather  up  into  wrinkles. 

"I  have  had  a  sad  misfortune,"  said  he,  "and  should  be 
very  much  obliged  indeed  to  Miss  Caroline  to  repair  it." 
(Caroline  was  said  with  a  kind  of  tender  hesitation  that 
caused  the  young  woman,  so  named,  to  blush  more  than 
ever.)  "  It  is  the  only  stock  I  have  in  the  world,  and  I 
can't  go  barenecked  into  the  streets  ;  can  I,  Mrs.  Becky  ?  " 

"No,  sure,"  said  Becky. 

"  Not  unless  I  was  a  celebrated  painter,  like  Mr.  Fitch," 
added  Mr.  Brandon,  with  a  smile,  which  was  reflected 
speedily  upon  the  face  of  the  lady  whom  he  wished  to 
interest.  "  Those  great  geniuses,"  he  added,  "  may  do  any- 
thing." 

"For,"  says  Becky,  "hee's  got  enough  beard  on  hees  faze 
to  keep  hees  neck  warm  !  "  At  which  remark,  though  INIiss 
Caroline  very  properly  said,  "  For  shame,  Becky ! ''  INIr. 
Brandon  was  so  convulsed  with  laughter,  that  he  fairl}^  fell 
down  upon  the  sofa  on  wdiich  Miss  Caroline  was  seated. 
How  she  startled  and  trembled,  as  he  flung  his  arm  upon 
the  back  of  the  couch !  Mr.  Brandon  did  not  attempt  to 
apologize  for  what  was  an  act  of  considerable  impertinence, 
but  continued  mercilessly  to  make  many  more  jokes  con- 
cerning poor  Fitch,  ivhich  were  so  cleverly  suited  to  the 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   SJORV.  63 

comprehension  of  the  maid  and  the  young  mistress  as  to 
elicit  a  great  number  of  roars  of  laughter  from  the  one,  and 
to  cause  the  other  to  smile  in  spite  of  herself.  Indeed, 
Brandon  had  gained  a  vast  reputation  with  Becky  in  his 
morning  colloquies  with  her,  and  she  was  ready  to  langh  at 
any  single  Avord  which  it  pleased  him  to  utter.  How  many 
of  his  good  tilings  had  this  honest  scullion  carried  down 
stairs  to  Caroline,  and  how  pitilessly  had  she  contrived  to 
estropier  them  in  their  passage  from  the  draAving-room  to 
the  kitchen  ! 

Well,  then,  w-hile  Mr.  Brandon  "was  a-going  on,"  as 
Becky  said,  Caroline  had  taken  his  stock  and  her  little 
lingers  were  occupied  in  repairing  the  damage  he  had  done 
to  it.  "VVas  it  clumsiness  on  her  part  ?  Certain  it  is  that 
the  rent  took  several  minutes  to  repair  :  of  them  the  man- 
fjeiir  de  cotnrs  did  not  fail  to  profit,  conversing  in  an  easy, 
kindly,  confidential  way,  which  set  our  fluttering  heroine 
speedily  at  rest,  and  enabled  her  to  rej^ly  to  his  continual 
queries,  addressed  with  much  adroitness  and  an  air  of  fra- 
ternal interest,  by  a  number  of  those  pretty  little  timid 
whispering  yeses  and  noes,  and  those  gentle,  quick  Iccks 
of  the  eyes  wherewith  young  and  modest  maidens  are 
wont  to  reply  to  the  questions  of  seducing  young  bachelors. 
Bear  yeses  and  noes,  how  beautiful  you  are  when  gently 
whispered  by  pretty  lips  I  — glances  of  quick  innocent  eyes, 
how  charming  are  you  I — and  hoAv  charming  the  soft  blush 
that  steals  over  the  cheek,  towards  which  the  dark  lashes 
are  drawing  the  blue-veined  ej^elids  down.  And  here  let 
the  writer  of  this  solemnly  declare,  upon  his  veracity,  that 
he  means  nothing  but  what  is  right  and  moral.  But  look, 
I  pray  you,  at  an  innocent  bashful  girl  of  sixteen ;  if  she  be 
but  good,  she  must  be  pretty.  She  is  a  woman  now,  but  a 
girl  still.  How  delightful  all  her  ways  are  !  How  ex- 
quisite her  instinctive  grace !  All  the  arts  of  all  the  Cleo- 
patras  are  not  so  captivating  as  her  nature.  Who  can 
resist  her  confiding  simplicity,  or  fail  to  be  touched  and 
conquered  by  her  gentle  appeal  to  protection  ? 

All  this  i\Ir.  Brandon  saw  and  felt,  as  many  a  gentleman 
educated  in  this  school  will.  It  is  not  because  a  man  is  a 
rascal  himself,  that  he  cannot  appreciate  virtue  and  purity 
very  keenly ;  and  our  hero  did  feel  for  this  simple,  gentle, 
tender,  artless  creature,  a  real  respect  and  sympathy  — a 
sympathy  so  fresh  and  delicious,  that  he  was  but  too  glad 
to  yield  to   it  and  indulge   in  it,  and  which  he  mistook, 


64  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

probably  for  a  real  love  of  virtue,  and  a  return  to  the  days 
of  his  innocence. 

Indeed,  Mr.  Brandon,  it  was  no  such  thing.  It  was  only 
because  vice  and  debauch  were  stale  for  the  moment,  and 
this  pretty  virtue  new.  It  was  only  because  your  cloyed 
appetite  was  long  unused  to  this  simple  meat  that  you  felt 
so  keen  a  relish  for  it ;  and  I  thought  of  you  only  the  last 
blessed  Saturday,  at  Mr.  Lovegrove's,  "  West  India  Tavern," 
Blackwall,  where  a  company  of  hfteen  epicures,  who  had 
scorned  the  turtle,  pooh-poohed  the  punch,  and  sent  away 
the  whitebait,  did  suddenly  and  simultaneously  make  a 
rush  upon  —  a  dish  of  beans  and  bacon.  And  if  the  assidu- 
ous reader  of  novels  will  think  upon  some  of  the  most 
celebrated  works  of  that  species,  which  have  lately  ap- 
pepvred  in  this  and  other  countries,  he  will  find,  amidst 
much  debauch  of  sentiment  and  enervating  dissipation  of 
intellect,  that  the  writers  have  from  time  to  time  a  return- 
ing appetite  for  innocence  and  freshness,  and  indulge  us 
with  occasional  repasts  of  beans  and  bacon.  How  long  Mr. 
Brandon  remained  by  Miss  Caroline's  side  I  have  no  means 
of  judging;  it  is  probable,  however,  that  he  stayed  a  much 
longer  time  than  was  necessary  for  the  mending  of  his 
black-satin  stock.  I  believe,  indeed,  that  he  read  to  the 
ladies  a  great  part  of  the  "Mysteries  of  Udolpho,"  over 
which  they  were  engaged;  and  interspersed  his  reading 
with  many  remarks  of  his  own,  both  tender  and  satirical. 
Whether  he  was  in  her  company  half  an  hour  or  four  hours, 
this  is  certain,  that  the  time  slipped  away  very  swiftly  with 
poor  Caroline  ;  and  when  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door, 
and  shrill  voices  were  heard  crying,  "  Becky  !  "  "  Carry  !  " 
and  Eebecca  the  maid,  starting  up,  cried,  "Lor',  here's 
missus  !  "  and  Brandon  jumped  rather  suddenly  off  the  sofa, 
and  fled  up  the  stairs  —  when  all  these  events  took  place, 
I  know  Caroline  felt  very  sad  indeed,  and  opened  the  door 
for  her  parents  with  a  very  heavy  heart. 

Swigby  helped  Miss  Linda  off  the  box  Avith  excessive 
tenderness.  Papa  was  bustling  and  roaring  in  high  good- 
humor,  and  called  for  "hot  water  and  tumblers  imme- 
diately." Mrs.  G-ann  was  gracious  ;  and  Miss  Bell  sulky, 
as  she  had  good  reason  to  be,  for  she  insisted  upon  taking 
the  front  seat  in  the  carriage  before  her  sister,  and  had  lost 
a  husband  by  that  very  piece  of  obstinacy. 

Mr.  Fitch,  as  he  entered,  bestowed  upon  Caroline  a  heavy 
sigh  and  a  deep  stare,  and  silently  ascended  to  his  own 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  65 

apartment.  He  was  lost  in  tliouglit.  The  fact  is,  he  was 
tryin^  to  remember  some  verses  regarding  a  violet,  which 
he  had  made  five  vears  before,  and  which  he  had  somehow 
lost  from  among  his  papers.  So  he  went  upstairs,  mutter- 
ing, — 

'*  A  linmble^ower  long-since  I  pined 
Upon  a  solitary  plain — " 


VOL.  I. — 5 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DESCRIBES  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL   MARRIAGE,  AND  MORE  LOVE- 
MAKING. 


T  will  not  be  necessary  to 
describe  the  particulars  of 
the  festivities  which  took 
place  on  the  occasion  of 
^Ir.  Swigby's  marriage  to 
JNliss  Macarty.  The  happy 
pair  went  off  in  a  post- 
chaise  and  four  to  the 
bridegroom's  country-seat, 
accompanied  by  the  bride's 
blushing  sister  ;  and  when 
the  first  week  of  their  mat- 
rimonial bliss  w^as  ended, 
that  worthy  woman,  Mrs. 
Gann,  with  her  excellent 
husband,  went  to  visit  the 
young  couple.  Miss  Caro- 
line was  left,  therefore,  sole 
mistress  of  the  house,  and  received  especial  cautions  from 
her  mamma  as  to  prudence,  economy,  the  proper  manage- 
ment of  the  lodgers'  bills,  and  the  necessity  of  staying  at 
home. 

Considering  that  one  of  the  gentlemen  remaining  in  the 
house  was  a  declared  lover  of  Miss  Caroline,  I  think  it  is  a 
little  surprising  that  her  mother  should  leave  her  unpro- 
tected ;  but  in  this  matter  the  poor  are  not  so  particular  as 
the  rich ;  and  so  this  young  lady  was  consigned  to  the 
guardianship  of  her  own  innocence,  and  the  lodgers'  loyalty  . 
nor  was  there  any  reason  why  Mrs.  Gann  should  doubt  the 
latter.  As  for  Mr.  Fitch,  he  would  have  far  j)referred  to  be 
torn  to  pieces  by  ten  thousand  wild  horses,  rather  than  to 
offer  to  the  young  woman  any  unkindness  or  insult ;  and 
how  was  Mrs.  Gann  to  suppose  that  the  other  lodger  was  a 

66 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  67 

whit  less  loyal  ?  that  he  had  any  partiality  for  a  person  of 
whom  he  always  spoke  as  a  mean,  insignificant  little  baby  ? 
So,  withont  any  misgivings,  and  in  a  one-horse  fly  with  Mr. 
Gann  by  her  side,  with  a  brand-new  green  coat  and  gilt 
buttons,  Juliana  Gann  went  forth  to  visit  her  beloved  child, 
and  console  her  in  her  married  state. 

And  here,  v/ere  I  allowed  to  occup}^  the  reader  with  ex- 
traneous matters,  I  could  give  a  very  curious  and  touching 
picture  of  the  Swigby  iiiemige.  Mrs.  S.,  I  am  very  sorry  to 
say,  quarrelled  with  her  husband  on  the  third  day  after 
their  marriage  —  and  for  what,  pr'thee  ?  Why,  because  he 
would  smoke,  and  no  gentleman  ought  to  smoke.  Swigby, 
therefore,  patiently  resigned  his  pipe,  and  with  it  one  of 
the  quietest,  happiest,  kindest  companions  of  his  solitude. 
He  was  a  different  man  after  this  ;  his  pipe  was  as  a  limb 
of  his  body.  Having  on  Tuesday  conquered  the  pipe,  Mrs. 
Swigby  on  Thursday  did  battle  with  her  husband's  rum-and- 
water,  a  drink  of  an  odious  smell,  as  she  very  properly 
observed ;  and  the  smell  was  doubly  odious,  now  that  the 
tobacco-smoke  no  longer  perfumed  the  parlOr-breeze,  and 
counteracted  the  odors  of  the  juice  of  West  India  sugar- 
canes.  On  Thursday,  then,  Mr.  Swigby  and  rum  held  out 
pretty  bravely.  Mrs.  S.  attacked  the  punch  with  some 
sharp-shooting,  and  fierce  charges  of  vulgarity ;  to  which  S. 
replied,  by  opening  the  battery  of  oaths  (chiefly  directed 
to  his  own  eyes,  however),  and  loud  protestations  that  he 
would  never  surrender.  In  three  days  more,  however,  the 
rum-and-water  was  gone.  Mr.  Swigby,  defeated  and  pros- 
trate, had  given  up  that  stronghold ;  his  young  wife  and 
sister  were  triumphant  ;  and  his  poor  mother,  who  occupied 
her  son's  house,  and  had  till  now  taken  her  place  at  the 
head  of  his  table,  saw  that  her  empire  was  forever  lost, 
and  was  preparing  suddenly  to  succumb  to  the  imperious 
claims  of  the  mistress  of  the  mansion. 

All  this,  I  say,  I  wish  I  had  the  liberty  to  describe  at 
large,  as  also  to  narrate  the  arrival  of  majestic  Mrs.  Gann ; 
and  a  battle-royal  Avhich  speedily  took  place  between  the 
two  worthy  mothers-in-law.  Noble  is  the  hatred  of  ladies 
who  stand  in  this  relation  to  each  other ;  each  sees  what 
injury  the  other  is  inflicting  upon  her  darling  child ;  each 
mistrusts,  detests,  and  to  her  offspring  privily  abuses  the 
arts  and  crimes  of  the  other.  A  house  with  a  wife  is  often 
warm  enough  ;  a  house  with  a  wife  and  her  mother  is  rather 
warmer  than  any  spot  on  the  Known  globe ;  a  house  with 


eS  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

two  mothers-in-law  is  so  excessively  hot  that  it  can  be 
likened  to  no  place  on  earth  at  all,  but  one  nmst  go  lower 
for  a  simile.  Think  of  a  wife  who  despises  her  husband, 
and  teaches  him  manners ;  of  an  elegant  sister,  who  joins 
in  rallying  him  (this  w^as  almost  the  only  point  of  union  be- 
tween Bella  and  Linda  now,  —  for  since  the  marriage,  Linda 
hated  her  sister  consumedly).  Think,  I  say,  of  two  mothers- 
in-law, —  one,  large,  pompous,  and  atrociously  genteel, — 
another  coarse  and  shrill,  determined  not  to  have  her  son  put 
upon,  —  and  you  may  see  what  a  happy  fellow  Joe  Swigby 
w^as,  and  into  what  a  piece  of  good  luck  he  had  fallen. 

What  would  have  become  of  him  without  his  father-in- 
law  ?  Indeed  one  shudders  to  think ;  but  the  consequence 
of  that  gentleman's  arrival  and  intervention  was  speedily 
this  :  —  About  four  o'clock,  when  the  dinner  was  removed, 
and  the  quarrelling  used  commonly  to  set  in,  the  two  gents 
took  their  hats,  and  sallied  out ;  and  as  one  has  found  when 
the  body  is  inflamed  that  the  application  of  a  stringent 
medicine  may  cause  the  ill  to  disappear  for  a  while,  only 
to  return  elsewhere  with  greater  force ;  in  like  manner, 
Mrs.  Swigby's  sudden  victory  over  the  pipe  and  rum-and- 
water,  although  it  had  caused  a  temporary  cessation  of  the 
evil  of  which  she  complained,  was  quite  unable  to  stop  it 
altogether ;  it  disappeared  from  one  spot  only  to  rage  with 
more  violence  elsewhere.  In  Swigby's  parlor,  rum  and 
tobacco  odors  rose  no  more  (except,  indeed,  when  Mrs.  Gann 
would  partake  of  the  former  as  a  restorative)  ;  but  if  you 
could  have  seen  the  "Half-Moon  and  Snuffers"  down  the 
village ;  if  you  could  have  seen  the  good  dry  skittle-ground 
which  stretched  at  the  back  of  that  inn,  and  the  window  of 
the  back  parlor  which  superintended  that  skittle-ground ;  if 
the  hour  at  which  you  beheld  these  objects  was  evening, 
what  time  the  rustics,  from  their  toils  released,  trolled  the 
stout  ball  amidst  the  rattling  pins  (the  oaken  pins  that 
standing  in  the  sun  did  cast  long  shadows  on  the  golden 
sward)  ;  if  you  had  remarked  all  this,  I  say,  you  would 
have  also  seen  in  the  back-parlor  a  tallow  candle  twinkling 
in  the  shade,  and  standing  on  a  little  greasy  table.  Upon 
the  greasy  table  was  a  pewter  porter-pot,  and  to  the  left  a 
teaspoon  glittering  in  a  glass  of  gin ;  close  to  each  of  these 
two  delicacies  was  a  pipe  of  tobacco ;  and  behind  the  pipes 
sat  Mr.  Gann  and  Mr.  Swigby,  who  now  made  the  "  Half- 
Moon  and  Snuffers  "  their  usual  place  of  resort,  and  forgot 
their  married  cares. 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  69 

In  spite  of  all  our  promises  of  brevity,  these  things  have 
taken  some  space  to  describe;  and  the  reader  must  also 
kno^v  that  some  short  interval  elapsed  ere  they  occurred. 
A  month  at  least  passed  away  before  Mr.  Swigby  had 
decidedly  taken  up  his  position  at  the  little  inn :  all  this 
time,  Gann  Avas  staying  with  his  son-in-law,  at  the  latter's 
most  earnest  request ;  and  Mrs.  Gann  remained  under  the 
same  roof  at  her  own  desire.  Xot  the  hints  of  her  daughter, 
nor  the  broad  questions  of  the  dowager  jNIrs.  Swigby,  could 
induce  honest  ]Mrs.  Gann  to  stir  from  her  quarters.  She 
had  had  her  lodgers'  money  in  advance,  as  was  the  worthy 
woman's  custom ;  she  knew  ^largate  in  April  was  dread- 
fully dull,  and  she  determined  to  enjoy  the  countiy  until 
the  jovial  town  season  arrived.  The  Canterbury  coachman, 
whom  Gann  knew,  and  who  passed  through  the  village, 
used  to  take  her  cargo  of  novels  to  and  fro;  and  the  old 
lady  made  herself  as  happy  as  circumstances  would  allow. 
Should  anything  of  importance  occur  during  her  mamma's 
absence,  Caroline  was  to  make  use  of  the  same  conveyance, 
and  inform  Mrs  Gann  in  a  letter. 

Miss  Caroline  looked  at  her  papa  and  mamma,  as  the 
vehicle  which  was  to  bear  them  to  the  newly  married  couple 
moved  up  the  street ;  but  strange  to  sa}',  she  did  not  feel 
that  heaviness  of  heart  which  she  befoie  had  experi- 
enced when  forbidden  to  share  the  festivities  of  her  family, 
but  was  on  this  occasion  more  happy  than  any  one  of  them, 
—  so  happy,  that  the  young  woman  felt  quite  ashamed  of 
herself ;  and  Becky  was  fain  to  remark  how  her  mistress's 
cheek  flushed,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  (and  turned  perpetu- 
ally to  the  cloor),  and  her  whole  little  frame  was  in  a 
flutter. 

"I  wonder  if  he  will  come,"  said  the  little  heart;  and 
the  eyes  turned  and  looked  at  that  well-known  sofa-corner, 
where  he  had  been  placed  a  fortnight  before.  He  looked 
exactly  like  Lord  Byron,  that  he  did,  with  his  pale  brow, 
and  his  slim  bare  neck;  only  not  half  so  wicked — no,  no. 

She  was  sure  that  her  —  her  Mr.  B ,  her  Bran ,  her 

George,  was  as  good  as  he  was  beautiful.  Don't  let  us  be 
angry  with  her  for  calling  him  George ;  the  girl  was 
bred  in  an  humble  sentimental  school  ;  she  did  not  know 
enough  of  society  to  be  squeamish ;  she  never  thought  that 
she  could  be  his  really,  and  gave  way  in  the  silence  of  her 
fancy  to  the  full  extent  of  her  affection  for  him. 

She  had  not  looked  at  the  door  above  twenty-five  times 


70  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

—  that  is  to  say,  her  parents  had  not  quitted  the  house  ten 
minutes  —  when,  sure  enough,  the  latch  did  rattle,  the  door 
opened,  and,  with  a  faint  blush  on  his  cheek,  divine  George 
entered.  He  was  going  to  make  some  excuse,  as  on  the 
former  occasion;  but  he  looked  first  into  Caroline's  face, 
which  was  beaming  with  joy  and  smiles;  and  the  little 
thing,  in  return,  regarded  him,  and  —  made  room  for  him 
on  the  sofa.  0  sweet  instinct  of  love !  Brandon  had  no 
need  of  excuses,  but  sat  down,  and  talked  away  as  easily, 
happily,  and  confidentially,  and  neither  took  any  note  of 
time.  Andrea  Fitch  (the  sly  dog !)  witnessed  the  Gann 
departure  with  feelings  of  exultation,  and  had  laid  some 
deep  plans  of  his  own  in  regard  to  Miss  Caroline.  So 
strong  was  his  confidence  in  his  friend  on  the  first  floor, 
that  Andrea  actually  descended  to  those  apartments,  on  his 
way  to  Mrs.  Gann's  parlor,  in  order  to  consult  jNIr.  Brandon, 
and  make  known  to  him  his  plan  of  operations. 

It  would  have  made  your  heart  break,  or,  at  the  very 
least,  your  sides  ache,  to  behold  the  countenance  of  poor  Mr. 
Fitch,  as  he  thrust  his  bearded  head  in  at  the  door  of  the 
parlor.  There  was  I^randon  lolling  on  the  sofa,  at  his  ease; 
Becky  in  full  good-humor ;  and  Caroline,  always  absurdly 
inclined  to  blush,  blushing  at  Fitch's  appearance  more  than 
ever !  She  could  not  help  looking  from  him  slyly  and 
gently  into  the  face  of  IMr.  Brandon.  That  gentleman  saw 
the  look,  and  did  not  fail  to  interpret  it.  It  was  a  con- 
fession of  love  —  an  appeal  for  protection.  A  thrill  of 
delightful  vanity  shot  through  Brandon's  frame,  and  made 
his  heart  throb,  as  he  noticed  this  look  of  poor  Caroline. 
He  answered  it  with  one  of  his  own  that  was  cruelly  wrong, 
cruelly  triumphant,  and  sarcastic;  and  he  shouted  out  to 
Mr.  Fitch,  with  a  loud,  disconcerted  tone,  which  only  made 
that  young  painter  feel  more  awkwa.rd  than  ever  he  had 
been.    Fitch  made  some  clumsy  speech  regarding  his  dinner, 

—  whether  that  meal  was  to  be  held,  in  the  absence  of  the 
parents,  at  the  usual  hour,  and  then  took  his  leave. 

The  poor  fellow  had  been  pleasing  himself  with  the 
notion  of  taking  this  daily  meal  tete-a-tete  with  Caroline. 
What  progress  would  he  make  in  her  heart  during  the 
absence  of  her  parents !  Did  it  not  seem  as  if  tlie  first 
marriage  had  been  arranged  on  purpose  to  facilitate  his  own  ? 
He  determined  thus  his  plan  of  campaign.  He  would 
make,  in  the  first  place,  the  most  beautiful  drawing  of 
Caroline  that  ever  was  seen.     "  The  conversations  I'll  'ave 


A    SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY.  71 

with  lier  during  the  sittings,"  sa3'S  he,  "will  carry  me  a 
pretty  long  way ;  the  drawing  itself  will  be  so  beautiful, 
that  she  can't  resist  that.  I'll  write  her  verses  in  her 
halbum,  and  make  designs  hallusive  of  my  passion  for  her." 
And  so  our  pictorial  Alnaschar  dreamed  and  dreamed.  He 
had,  ere  long,  established  himself  in  a  house  in  Newman 
Street,  with  a  footman  to  open  the  door.  Caroline  w^as  up- 
stairs, his  wife,  and  her  picture  the  crack  portrait  of  the 
Exhibition.  AYitli  her  by  his  side,  Andrea  Fitch  felt  he 
could  do  anything.  Half  a  dozen  carriages  at  his  door, — a 
hundred  guineas  for  a  Kit-Cat  portrait.  Lady  Fitch,  Sir 
Andrew  Fitch,  the  President's  chain,  —  all  sorts  of  bright 
visions  floated  before  his  imagination ;  and  as  Caroline  was 
the  first  precious  condition  of  his  preferment,  he  determined 
forthwith  to  begin,  and  realize  that. 

But  0  disappointment !  on  coming  down  to  dinner  at 
three  o'clock  to  that  charming  tete-a-tete,  he  found  no  less 
than  four  covers  laid  on  the  table,  Miss  Caroline  blushing 
(according  to  custom)  at  the  head  of  it ;  Becky,  the  maid, 
grinning  at  the  foot ;  and  Mr.  Brandon  sitting  quietly  on 
one  side,  as  much  at  home,  forsooth,  as  if  he  had  held  that 
position  for  a  year. 

The  fact  is,  that  the  moment  after  Fitch  retired,  Brandon, 
inspired  by  jealousy,  had  made  the  same  request  which  had 
been  brought  forward  by  the  painter ;  nor  must  the  ladies 
be  too  angry  with  Caroline,  if,  after  some  scruples  and 
struggles,  she  yielded  to  the  proposal.  Eemember  that  the 
girl  was  the  daughter  of  a  boarding-house,  accustomed  to 
continual  dealings  witii  her  mamma's  lodgers,  and  up  to  the 
present  moment  thinking  herself  as  safe  among  them  as  the 
young  person  who  walked  through  Ireland  with  a  bright 
gold  wand,  in  the  song  of  ]\Ir.  Thomas  Moore.  On  the  point, 
liowever,  of  Brandon's  admission,  it  must  be  confessed,  for 
Caroline's  honor,  that  she  did  hesitate.  She  felt  that  she 
entertained  very  different  feelings  towards  him  to  those 
with  which  an}^  other  lodger  or  man  had  inspired  her,  and 
made  a  little  movement  of  resistance  at  first.  But  the  poor 
girl's  modesty  overcame  this,  as  well  as  her  wish.  Ought 
she  to  avoid  him  ?  Ought  she  not  to  stifle  any  preference 
which  she  might  feel  towards  him,  and  act  towards  him 
with  the  same  indifference  which  she  would  show  to  any 
other  person  in  a  like  situation  ?  Was  not  Mr.  Fitch  to 
dine  at  table  as  usual,  and  had  she  refused  him  ?  So 
reasoned  she  in  her  heart.     Silly  little  cunning  heart !   it 


72 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 


knew  that  all  these  reasons  were  lies,  and  that  she  should 
avoid  the  man ;  but  she  was  willing  to  accept  of  any 
pretext  for  meeting,  and  so  made  a  kind  of  compromise 
with  her  conscience.  Dine  he  should;  but  Becky  should 
dine  too,  and  be  a  protector  to  her.  Becky  laughed  loudly 
at  the  idea  of  this,  and  took  her  place  with  huge  delight. 

It  is  needless  to  say  a  word  about  this  dinner,  as  we  have 
already  described  a  former  meal ;  suffice  it  to  say,  that  the 
presence  of  Brandon  caused  the  painter  to  be  excessively 
sulky  and  uncomfortable ;  and  so  gave  his  rival,  who  was 


gay,  triumphant,  and  at  his  ease,  a  decided  advantage  over 
him.  Nor  did  Brandon  neglect  to  use  this  to  the  utmost. 
When  Fitch  retired  to  his  own  apartments  —  not  jealous  as 
yet,  for  the  simple  fellow  believed  every  word  of  Brandon's 
morning  conversation  with  him  — but  vaguely  annoyed  and 
disappointed,  Brandon  assailed  him  with  all  the  force  of 
ridicule ;  at  all  his  manners,  words,  looks,  he  joked  merci- 
lessly ;  laughed  at  his  low  birth  (Miss  Gann,  be  it  remem- 
bered, had   been   taught  to   pique  herself    upon   her  own 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  73 

family),  and  invented  a  series  of  stories  concerning  liis  past 
life  which  made  the  ladies  —  for  Becky,  being  in  the  parlor, 
must  be  considered  as  such  —  conceive  the  greatest  contempt 
and  pity  for  the  poor  painter. 

After  this,  ^Nlr.  Brandon  would  expatiate  with  much  elo- 
quence upon  his  own  superior  attractions  and  qualities.  He 
talked  of  his  cousin,  Lord  So-and-So,  with  the  easiest  air 
imaginable  ;  told  Caroline  what  princesses  he  had  danced 
with  at  foreign  courts  ;  frightened  her  with  accounts  of 
dreadful  duels  he  had  fought ;  in  a  word,  "  posed  "  before 
her  as  a  hero  of  the  most  sublime  kind.  How  the  poor 
little  thing  drank  in  all  his  tales  ;  and  how  she  and  Becky 
(for  they  now  occupied  the  same  bedroom)  talked  over  them 
at  night ! 

Miss  Caroline,  as  Mr.  Fitch  has  already  stated,  had  in  her 
possession,  like  almost  every  young  lady  in  England,  a  little 
square  book  called  an  album,  containing  prints  from  annuals ; 
hideous  designs  of  flowers  ;  old  pictures  of  faded  fashions, 
cut  out  and  pasted  into  the  leaves ;  and  small  scraps  of 
verses  selected  from  Byron,  Landon,  or  Mrs.  Hemans ;  and 
written  out  in  the  girlish  hand  of  the  owner  of  the  book. 
Brandon  looked  over  this  work  with  a  good  deal  of  curios- 
ity—  for  he  contended,  always,  that  a  girl's  disposition 
might  be  learned  from  the  character  of  this  museum  of  hers 
—  and  found  here  several  sketches  by  Mr.  Fitch,  for  which, 
before  that  gentleman  had  declared  his  passion  for  her,  Car- 
oline had  begged.  These  sketches  the  sentimental  painter 
had  illustrated  with  j^oetry,  which,  I  must  confess,  Caroline 
thought  charming,  until  now,  when  Mr.  Brandon  took  occa- 
sion to  point  out  how  wretchedly  poor  the  verses  were  (as 
indeed  was  the  fact),  and  to  parody  them  all.  He  was  not 
unskilful  at  this  kind  of  exercise,  and  at  the  drawing  of 
caricatures,  and  had  soon  made  a  dozen  of  both  parodies 
and  drawings,  Avhich  reflected  cruelly  upon  the  person  and 
the  talents  of  the  painter. 

What  now  did  this  Avicked  ]Mr.  Brandon  do  ?  He,  in  the 
first  place,  drew  a  caricature  of  Fitch  ;  and,  secondly,  hav- 
ing gone  to  a  gardener's  near  the  town,  and  purchased  there 
a  bunch  of  violets,  he  presented  them  to  ^liss  Caroline,  and 
wrote  Mr.  Fitch's  own  verses,  before  given,  into  her  album. 
He  signed  them  with  his  own  initials,  and  thus  declared 
open  war  with  the  painter. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WHICH    BRIXGS    A    GREAT    NUMBER    OF    PEOPLE    TO    MARGATE 
BY    THE    STEAMBOAT. 

,HE  events  which  this  history 
records  began  in  the  month 
of  February.  Time  had 
now  passed,  and  April  had 
arrived,  and  with  it  that 
festive  season  so  loved  by 
school-boys,  and  called  the 
Easter  holidays.  Not  only 
school-boys,  but  men,  profit 
by  this  period  of  leisure,  — 
such  men,  especially,  as 
have  just  come  into  enjoy- 
ment of  their  own  cups  and 
saucers,  and  are  in  daily  ex- 
pectation of  their  whiskers 
—  college  men,  I  mean  — 
who  are  persons  more  anxious  than  any  others  to  designate 
themselves  and  each  other  by  the  manly  title. 

Among  other  men,  then,  my  Lord  Viscount  Cinqbars,  of 
Christ  Church,  Oxon,  received  a  sum  of  money  to  pay  his 
quarter's  bill,  and  having  written  to  his  papa  that  he  was 
busily  engaged  in  reading  for  the  "little-go,"  and  must, 
therefore,  decline  the  delight  he  had  promised  himself  of 
passing  the  vacation  at  Cinqbars  Hall,  —  and  having,  the 
day  after  his  letter  was  despatched,  driven  to  town  tandem 
Avith  young  Tom  Tufthunt,  of  the  same  university,  —  and 
having  exhausted  the  pleasures  of  the  metropolis, — the 
theatres,  the  Cider-cellars,  the  Einish,  the  station-houses, 
and  other  places  which  need  by  no  means  be  here  particu- 
larized,—  Lord  Cinqbars,  I  say,  growing  tired  of  London 
at  the  end  of  ten  da3^s,  quitted  the  metropolis  somewhat 
suddenly ;  nor  did  he  pay  his  hotel  bill  at  Long's  before  his 
departure ;  but  he  left  that  document  in  possession  of  the 

74 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL    STORY.  75 

landlord,  as  a  token  of  his  (my  Lord  Cinqbars')  confidence 
in  his  host. 

Tom  Tulthuut  Avent  with  my  lord,  of  course  (although  of 
an  aristocratic  turn  in  politics,  Tom  loved  and  respected  a 
lord  as  much  as  any  democrat  in  England),  And  whither 
do  you  thir.k  this  worthy  pair  of  young  gentlemen  were 
bound  ?  To  no  less  a  place  than  Margate ;  for  Cinqbars  was 
filled  with  a  longing  to  go  and  see  his  old  friend  Brandon, 
and  determined,  to  use  his  own  elegant  words,  "to  knock 
the  old  buck  up." 

There  was  no  adventure  of  consequence  on  board  the 
steamer  which  brought  Lord  Cinqbars  and  his  friend  from 
London  to  Margate,  and  very  few  passengers  besides.  A 
wandering  Jew  or  two  were  set  down  at  Gravesend  ;  the 
Eev.  ]\lr.  Wackerbart,  and  six  unhappy  little  pupils  whom 
the  reverend  gentleman  had  pounced  upon  in  London,  and 
was  carrying  back  to  his  academy  near  Heme  Bay  ;  some  of 
those  inevitable  persons  of  dubious  rank  who  seem  to  have 
free  tickets,  and  always  eat  and  drink  hugely  with  the  cap- 
tain ;  and  a  lady  and  her  party,  formed  the  whole  list  of 
passengers. 

The  lady  —  a  very  fat  lady  —  had  evidently  just  returned 
from  abroad.  Her  great  green  travelling-chariot  was  on  the 
deck,  and  on  all  her  imperials  were  pasted  fresh  large  bills, 
with  the  words  I^XE's  British  Hotel,  Boulogne-sur- 
^Ier  ;  for  it  is  the  custom  of  that  worthy  gentleman  to 
seize  upon  and  plaster  all  the  luggage  of  his  guests  with 
tickets,  on  which  his  name  and  resideuce  are  inscribed  —  by 
which  simple  means  he  keeps  himself  perpetually  in  their 
recollection,  and  brings  himself  to  the  notice  of  all  other 
persons  who  are  in  the  habit  of  peering  at  their  fellow-pas- 
sengers' trunks,  to  find  out  their  names.  I  need  not  say 
what  a  large  class  this  is. 

Well ;  this  fat  lady  had  a  courier,  a  tall,  whiskered  man, 
who  spoke  all  languages,  looked  like  a  field-marshal,  went 
by  the  name  of  Donnerwetter,  and  rode  on  the  box  ;  a 
French  maid.  Mademoiselle  Augaistine ;  and  a  little  black 
page,  called  Saladin,  Avho  rode  in  the  rumble.  Saladin's 
whole  busiiipss  was  to  attend  a  wheezy,  fat,  white  poodle, 
who  usually  travelled  inside  with  his  mistress  and  her  fair 
conqxignon  de  voyage,  whose  name  was  jSIiss  Euut.  This 
fat  lady  was  evidently  a  person  of  distinction.  During  the 
first  part  of  the  voyage,  on  a  windy,  sunshiny  April  day, 
she  paced  the  deck  stoutly,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  poor  little 


76  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

Miss  Runt ;  and  after  they  had  passed  Gravesend,  when  the 
vessel  began  to  pitch  a  good  deal,  retired  to  her  citadel,,  tlie 
travelling-chariot,  to  and  from  which  the  steward,  the  stew- 
ardess, and  the  whiskered  courier  were  continually  running 
with  supplies  —  of  sandwiches  first,  and  afterwards  of  very 
hot  brandy -an  d-water :  for  the  truth  must  be  told,  it  was 
rather  a  rough  afternoon,  and  the  poodle  was  sick  ;  Saladin 
was  as  bad;  the  French  maid,  like  ail  French  maids,  was 
outrageously  ill ;  the  lady  herself  was  very  unwell  indeed ; 
and  poor  dear  sympathizing  Runt  was  qualmish. 

'^  Ah,  Runt ! "  would  the  fat  lady  say  in  the  intervals, 
"  what  a  thing  this  malady  de  mare  is !  Oh,  mong  jew ! 
Oh  — oh!" 

"  It  is,  indeed,  dear  madam,"  said  Runt,  and  went  "  Oh  — • 
oh  !  "  in  chorus. 

"  Ask  the  steward  if  we  are  near  Margate,  Runt."  And 
Runt  did,  and  asked  tliis  question  every  live  minutes,  as 
people  do  on  these  occasions. 

"Issy  Monsieur  Donnerwetter :  ally  dimandy  ung  pew 
d'o  sho  poor  mwaw." 

"  Et  de  I'eau  de  lie  afec,  n'est-cebas,  Matame  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Donnerwetter. 

"  Wee,  wee,  comme  vous  vouly." 

And  Donnerwetter  knew  very  well  what  "comme  vous 
vouly"  meant,  and  brought  the  liquor  exactly  in  the  wished- 
for  state. 

"  Ah,  Runt,  Runt !  there's  something  even  worse  than 
sea-sickness.     Heigh-ho ! " 

"  Dear,  dear  Marianne,  don't  flutter  yourself,"  cries  Runt, 
squeezing  a  fat  paw  of  her  friend  and  patroness  between 
her  own  bony  lingers.  "  Don't  agitate  your  nerves,  dear. 
I  know  you're  miserable  ;  but  haven't  you  got  a  friend  in 
your  faithful  Runty  ?  " 

"  You're  a  good  creater,  that  you  are,"  said  the  fat  lady, 
who  seemed  herself  to  be  a  good-humored  old  soul ;  "  and  I 
don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  without  you.  Heigh- 
ho  !  " 

"  Cheer  up,  dear !  you'll  be  happier  when  you  get  to 
Margate  :  you  know  you  will,"  cried  Runt,  very  knowingly. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Elizabeth  ?  " 

"  You  know  very  well,  dear  Marianne.  I  mean  that  there's 
some  one  there  will  make  you  happy :  though  he's  a  nasty 
wretch,  that  he  is,  to  have  treated  my  darling,  beautiful 
Marianne  so." 


A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  77 

"Kunt,  Runt,  don't  abuse  that  best  of  men.  Don't  call 
me  beautiful  —  I'm  not,  Hunt ;  1  have  been,  but  I  ain't  now  ; 
and  oh !    no  woman  in  the  world  is  assy  bong  poor  lui." 

"  But  an  angel  is ;  and  3^ou  are,  as  you  always  was,  an 
angel.  —  as  good  as  an  angel,  as  kind  as  an  angel,  as  beau- 
tiful as  one." 

"  Ally  dong,"  said  her  companion,  giving  her  a  push  ; 
"you  flatter  me,  Runt,  you  know  you  do." 

"  May  I  be  struck  down  dead  if  I  don't  say  the  truth ; 
and  if  he  refuses  you,  as  he  did  at  Rome, — that  is,  after 
all  his  attentions  and  vows,  he's  faithless  to  you,  —  I  say 
he's  a  wretch,  that  he  is  ;  and  I  will  say  he's  a  wretch,  and 
he  is  a  wretch  —  a  nasty,  wicked  wretch  ! " 

"  Elizabeth,  if  you  say  that,  you'll  break  my  heart,  you 
will !  Vous  casserez  mong  pover  cure."  But  Elizabeth 
swore,  on  the  contrary,  that  she  would  die  for  her  Mari- 
anne, which  consoled  the  fat  lady  a  little. 

A  great  deal  more  of  this  kind  of  conversation  took 
place  during  the  voyage ;  but  as  it  occurred  inside  a  car- 
riage, so  that  to  hear  it  was  very  difficult,  and  as  possibly 
it  was  not  of  that  edifying  nature  which  would  induce  the 
reader  to  relish  many  chapters  of  it,  we  shall  give  no 
further  account  of  the  ladies'  talk :  suffice  it  to  say,  that 
about  half-past  four  o'clock  the  journey  ended,  by  the  ves- 
sel bringing  up  at  Margate  Pier.  The  passengers  poured 
forth,  and  hied  to  their  respective  homes  or  inns.  My 
Lord  Cinqbars  and  his  companion  (of  whom  we  have  said 
nothing,  as  they  on  their  sides  had  scarcely  spoken  a  word 
the  whole  way,  except  "deuce-ace,"  "quarter-tray," 
"  sizes,''  and  so  on,  —  being  occupied  ceaselessly  in  drink- 
ing bottled  stout  and  playing  backgammon)  ordered  their 
luggage  to  be  conveyed  to  "Wright's  Hotel,"  whither  the 
fat  lady  and  suite  followed  them.  The  house  was  vacant, 
and  the  best  rooms  in  it  were  placed,  of  course,  at  the  ser- 
vice of  the  new-comers.  The  fat  lady  sailed  out  of  her 
bedroom  towards  her  saloon,  just  as  Lord  Cinqbars,  cigar 
in  mouth,  was  swaggering  out  of  his  parlor.  They  met  in 
the  passage ;  when,  to  the  young  lord's  surprise,  the  fat 
lady  dropped  him  a  low  courtesy,  and  said,  — 

"jMunseer  le  Vecomte  de  Cinqbars,  sharmy  de  vous  voir. 
Vous  vous  rappelez  de  mwaw,  n'est-ce  pas  ?  Je  vous  ai 
vew  a  Rome  —  shay  I'ambassadure,  vous  savy." 

Lord  Cinqbars  stared  her  in  the  face,  and  pushed  by  her 
without  a  word,  leaving  the  fat  lady  rather  disconcerted. 


78  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

"Well,  Euiit,  I'm  sure,"  said  she,  "he  need  not  be  so 
proud ;  I've  met  him  twenty  times  at  Rome,  when  he  was  a 
young  chap  with  his  tutor." 

''  Who  the  devil  can  that  fat  foreigner  be  ?  "  mused  Lord 
Cinqbars.  "  Hang  her,  I've  seen  her  somewhere  ;  but  I'm 
cursed  if  I  understand  a  word  of  her  jabber."  And  so, 
dismissing  the  subject,  he  walked  on  to  Brandon's. 

''Dang  it,  it's  a  strange  thing!"  said  the  landlord  of  the 
hotel;  "but  both  my  lord  and  the  fat  woman  in  number 
nine  have  asked  their  w^ay  to  Mother  Gann's  lodging,"  — 
for  so  did  he  dare  to  call  that  respectable  woman ! 

It  was  true  ;  as  soon  as  number  nine  had,  eaten  her  din- 
ner, she  asked  the  question  mentioned  by  the  landlord; 
and,  as  this  meal  occupied  a  considerable  time,  the  shades 
of  evening  had  by  this  time  fallen  upon  the  quiet  city; 
the  silver  moon  lighted  up  the  bay,  and,  supported  by  a 
numerous  and  w^eli-api)ointed  train  of  gas-lamps,  illumi- 
nated the  streets  of  a  town,  —  of  autumn  eves  so  crowded 
and  so  gay;  of  gusty  April  nights,  so  desolate.  At  this 
still  hour  (it  might  be  half-past  seven),  two  ladies  passed 
the  gates  of  "Wright's  Hotel,"  "in  shrouding  mantle 
wrapped,  and  velvet  cap."  Up  the  deserted  High  Street 
toiled  they,  by  gaping  rows  of  empty  bathing-houses,  by 
melancholy  Jolly's  French  bazaar,  by  mouldy  pastry-ccoks, 
blank  reading-rooms,  by  fishmongers  who  never  sold  a  fish, 
mercers  who  vended  not  a  yard  of  ribbon  —  because,  as  yet, 
the  season  was  not  come,  —  and  Jews  and  cockneys  still 
remained  in  town.  At  High  Street's  corner,  near  Hawley 
Square  they  passed  the  house  of  Mr.  Fincham,  chemist, 
who  doth  not  only  healthful  drugs  supply,  but  likew^ise  sells 
cigars  —  the  worst  cigars  that  ever  mortal  man  gave  three- 
pence for. 

Up  to  this  point,  I  say,  I  have  had  a  right  to  accompany 
the  fat  lady  and  IVIiss  Kunt ;  but,  w^hether,  on  arriving  at 
Mr.  Fincham's,  they  turned  to  the  left,  in  the  direction  of 
the  "  Royal  Hotel,"  or  to  the  right,  by  the  beach,  the  bath- 
ing-machines, and  queer  rickety  old  row  of  houses,  called 
"  Buenos  Ayres,"  no  power  on  earth  shall  induce  me  to 
say ;  suffice  it,  they  went  to  Mrs.  Gann's.  Wh}'  should  we 
set  all  the  world  gadding  to  a  particular  street,  to  know 
where  that  lad}-  lives  ?  They  arrived  before  that  lady's 
house  at  about  eight  o'clock.  Every  house  in  the  street 
had  bills  on  it  except  hers  (bitter  mockery,  as  if  anybody 
came  down  at  Easter !)  and  at  Mrs.  Gann's  house  there  was 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  79 

a  liglit  ill  the  garret,  and  another  in  the  two-pair  front.  I 
believe  I  have  not  mentioned  before  that  all  the  front  win- 
dows were  bow  or  bay  windows ;  but  so  niucii  the  reader 
may  know. 

The  two  ladies,  who  had  walked  so  far, -examined  wist- 
fully the  plata  on  the  door,  stood  on  the  steps  for  a  short 
time,  retreated,  and  conversed  with  one  another. 

''Oh,  E-unty  ! "  said  the  stouter  of  the  two,  "he's  here 
—  I  know  he's  here,  mong  cure  le  dee  —  my  heart  tells  me 
so.''  And  she  put  a  large  hand  upon  a  place  on  her  left 
side,  where  there  once  had  been  a  waist. 

"  Do  you  think  he  looks  front  or  back,  dear  ? "  asked 
Bunt.     "  P'raps  he's  not  at  home." 

'•That  —  that's  his  croisy,"  said  the  stout  person;  "I 
know  it  is ;  "  and  she  pointed  with  instinctive  justice  to 
the  two-pair.  ^'Ecouty  !"  she  added,  "he's  coming;  there's 
some  one  at  that  window.  Oh,  mong  jew,  mong  jew !  c'est 
Andre,  c'est  lui !  " 

The  moon  Avas  shining  full  on  the  face  of  the  bow-win- 
dows of  Mrs.  Gann's  house ;  and  the  two  fair  spies,  who 
were  watching  on  the  other  side,  Avere,  in  consequence, 
completely  in  shadow.  As  the  lady  said,  a  dark  form  was 
seen  in  the  two-pair  front ;  it  paced  the  room  for  a  while, 
for  no  blinds  were  drawn.  It  then  flung  itself  on  a  chair  ; 
its  head  on  its  hands ;  it  then  began  to  beat  its  brows 
wildly,  and  paced  the  room  again.  Ah !  how  the  fat  lady's 
heart  throbbed  as  she  looked  at  all  this  I 

She  gave  a  piercing  shriek  —  almost  fainted!  and  little 
Runt's  knees  trembled  under  her,  as  with  all  her  might 
she  supported,  or  rather  pushed  up,  the  falling  figure  of 
her  stout  patroness, — who  saw  at  that  instant  Fitch  come 
to  the  candle  with  an  immense  pistol  in  his  hand,  and  give 
a  most  horrible  grin  as  he  looked  at  it,  and  clasped  it  to 
his  breast. 

"  Unhand  me,  Eunt;  he's  going  to  kill  himself!  It's  for 
me !  I  know  it  is  —  I  will  go  to  him !  Andrea,  my 
Andrea  !  "  And  the  fat  lady  was  pushing  for  the  opposite 
side  of  the  way,  when  suddenly  the  second-floor  window 
went  clattering  up,  and  Fitch's  pale  head  was  thrust  out. 

He  had  heard  a  scream,  and  had  possibly  been  induced 
to  open  the  window  in  consequence ;  but  by  the  time  he 
had  opened  it  he  had  forgotten  everything,  and  put  Ids 
head  vacanth'  out  of  the  window,  and  gazed,  the  moon 
shining  cold  on  his  pale  features. 


80  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

"  Pallid  liorb ! "  said  Fitcli,  '^  shall  I  ever  see  thy  light 
again  ?  Will  another  night  see  nie  on  this  hearth,  or  view 
me,  stark  and  cold,  a  lifeless  corpse  ?  "  He  took  his  pistol 
up,  and  slowly  aimed  it  at  a  chimney-pot  opposite.  Fancy 
the  fat  lady's  sensations  as  she  beheld  her  lover  standing 
in  the  moonlight,  and  exercising  this  deadly  weapon. 

"j\fake  ready  —  present  —  fire!"  shouted  Fitch,  and  did 
instantaneously,  not  fire  off,  but  lower  his  Aveapon.  "  The 
bolt  of  death  is  sped  ! "  continued  he,  clapping  his  hand  on 
his  side.  "  The  poor  painter's  life  is  over  !  Caroline,  Caro- 
line, I  die  for  thee  !  " 

"  Emit,  Eunt,  I  told  you  so  ! "  shrieked  the  fat  lady. 
"  He  is  dying  for  me,  and  Caroline's  my  second  name." 

What  the  fat  lady  would  have  done  more,  I  can't  say, 
for  Fitch,  disturbed  out  of  his  reverie  by  her  talking  below, 
looked  out,  frowning  vacantly,  and  saying  "  Ulloh !  we've 
hinterlopers  'ere ! "  suddenly  banged  down  the  window,  and 
pulled  down  the  blinds. 

This  gave  a  check  to  the  fat  lady's  projected  rush,  and 
disconcerted  her  a  little.  But  she  was  consoled  by  Miss 
Eunt,  promised  to  return  on  the  morrow,  and  went  home 
happy  in  idea  that  her  Andrea  was  faithful  to  her. 

Alas,  poor  fat  lady !  little  did  you  know  the  truth.  It 
was  Caroline  Gann  Fitch  was  raving  about ;  and  it  was 
a  23art  of  his  last  letter  to  her,  to  be  delivered  after  his 
death,  that  he  was  spouting  out  of  the  window. 

Was  the  crazy  painter  going  to  fight  a  duel,  or  was  he 
going  to  kill  himself  ?  This  will  be  ex^jlained  in  the  next 
chapter. 


CHAPTEK    VIII. 


WHICH     TREATS     OF     WAR     AND     LOVE,    AXD     MANY     THINGS 
THAT    ARE    NOT    TO     BE    UNDERSTOOD    IN    CHAP.    VII. 


ITCH'S  verses,  inserted  in  a 
previous  chapter  of  this 
story  (and  of  which  lines,  by 
the  way,  the  printer  managed 
to  make  still  greater  non- 
sense than  the  ingenious  bard 
ever  designed),  had  been 
composed  many  years  before  ; 
and  it  was  with  no  small 
trouble  and  thought  that  the 
young  painter  called  the 
greater  i)art  of  them  to 
memory  again,  and  furbished 
up  a  copy  for  Caroline's 
album.  Unlike  the  love  of 
most  men,  Andrea's  passion 
was  not  characterized  by  jeal- 
ousy and  watchfulness,  otherwise  he  would  not  have  failed 
to  perceive  certain  tokens  of  intelligence  passing  from  time 
to  time  between  Caroline  and  Brandon,  and  the  lady's 
evident  coldness  to  himself.  The  fact  is,  the  painter  was 
in  love  with  being  in  love,  —  entirely  absorbed  in  the  con- 
sideration of  the  fact  that  he,  Andrea  Fitch,  was  at  last 
enamored ;  and  he  did  not  mind  his  mistress  much  more 
than  Don  Quixote  did  Dulcinea  del  Toboso. 

Having  rubbed  up  his  verses,  then,  and  designed  a  pretty 
emblematical  outline  w^hich  was  to  surround  them,  repre- 
senting an  arabesque  of  violets,  dewdrops,  fairies,  and 
other  objects,  he  came  down  one  morning,  drawing  in  hand; 
and  having  informed  Caroline,  who  was  sitting  very  melan- 
choly in  the  parlor,  preoccupied,  with  a  pale  face  and  red 
eyes,  and  not  caring  tw()})enee  for  the  finest  drawing  in  the 
world,  —  having  informed  her  that  he  was  going  to  make  in 
VOL.   I. — 6  81 


82  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

her  halbum  a  humble  hoffering  of  his  hart,  poor  Fitch  was 
just  on  the  point  of  sticking  in  the  drawing  with  gum,  as 
painters  know  very  well  how  to  do,  when  his  eye  lighted 
upon  a  i^age  of  the  album,  in  which  nestled  a  few  dried 
violets  and  —  his  own  verses,  signed  with  the  name  of 
George  Brandon. 

"  Miss  Caroline  —  Miss  Gann,  mam  !  "  shrieked  Fitch,  in 
a  tone  of  voice  which  made  the  young  lady  start  out  of 
a  profound  reverie,  and  cry,  nervously,  —  "  What  in  heaven 
is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  These  verses,  madam  —  a  faded  violet  —  word  for  word, 
gracious  'eavens  !  every  word ! "  roared  Fitch,  advancing 
with  the  book. 

She  looked  at  him  rather  vacantly,  and  as  the  violets 
caught  her  eye,  put  out  her  hand,  and  took  them.  "Do 
you  know  the  hawthor.  Miss  Gann,  of  'The  Faded 
Violets'?" 

"Author?  0  yes;  they  are  —  they  are  George's!" 
She  burst  into  tears  as  she  said  that  word ;  and,  pulling  the 
little  faded  flowers  to  pieces,  went  sobbing  out  of  the 
room. 

Dear,  dear  little  Caroline !  she  has  only  been  in  love 
two  months,  and  is  already  beginning  to  feel  the  woes 
of  it ! 

It  cannot  be  from  want  of  experience  —  for  I  have  felt 
the  noble  passion  of  love  many  times  these  forty  years, 
since  I  was  a  boy  of  twelve  (by  which  the  reader  may  form 
a  pretty  good  guess  of  my  age),  —  it  cannot  be,  I  say,  from 
want  of  experience  that  I  am  unable  to  describe,  step  by 
step,  the  progress  of  a  love-affair;  nay,  I  am  perfectly 
certain  that  I  could,  if  I  chose,  make  a  most  astonishing 
and  heart-rending  liber  amoris  ;  but,  nevertheless,  I  always 
feel  avast  repugnance  to  the  following  out  of  a  subject  of 
this  kind,  which  I  attribute  to  a  natural  diffidence  and 
sense  of  shame  that  prevent  me  from  enlarging  on  a  theme 
that  has  in  it  something  sacred  —  certain  arcana  which  an 
honest  man,  although  initiated  into  them,  should  not 
divulge. 

If  such  coy  scruples  and  blushing  delicacy  prevent  one 
from  passing  the  threshold  even  of  an  honorable  love,  and 
setting  down,  at  so  many  guineas  or  shillings  per  page,  the 
pious  emotions  and  tendernesses  of  two  persons  chastely 
and  legall}^  engaged  in  sighing,  ogling,  liand-squeezing.  kiss- 
ing, and  so  forth  (for  with  such  outward  signs  I  believe 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  83 

that  the  passion  of  love  is  expressed),  —  if  a  man  feel,  I 
say,  squeamish  about  describing  an  innocent  love,  he  is 
doubly  disinclined  to  describe  a  guilty  one ;  and  I  have 
always  felt  a  kind  of  loathing  for  tlie  skill  of  such  geniuses 
as  Kousseau  or  Eichardsou,  who  could  paint  with  such 
painful  accuracy  ail  the  struggles  and  woes  of  Eloise  and 
Clarissa,  —  all  the  wicked  arts  and  triumphs  of  such  scoun- 
drels as  Lovelace. 

AVe  have  in  this  history  a  scoundrelly  Lovelace  in  the 
person  going  by  the  name  of  George  Brandon,  and  a  dear, 
tender,  iiniocent,  yielding  creature  on  whom  he  is  practis- 
ing his  infernal  skill ;  and  whether  the  public  feel  any 
sympath}^  for  her  or  not,  the  writer  can  only  say,  for  his 
part,  that  he  heartily  loves  and  respects  poor  little  Caroline, 
and  is  quite  unwilling  to  enter  into  any  of  the  slow,  pain- 
ful, wicked  details  of  the  courtship  which  passed  between 
her  and  her  lover. 

Kot  that  there  was  any  wickedness  on  her  side,  poor  girl ! 
or  that  she  did  anything  but  follow  the  natural  and  beauti- 
ful impidses  of  an  honest  little  female  heart,  that  leads  it 
to  trust,  and  love,  and  worship  a  being  of  the  other  sex, 
whom  the  eager  fancy  invests  with  all  sorts  of  attributes  of 
superiority.  There  was  no  wild,  conceited  tale  that 
Brandon  told  Caroline  which  she  did  not  believe, — no 
virtue  which  she  could  conceive  or  had  read  of  in  novels 
with  which  she  did  not  endow  him.  Many  long  talks  had 
they,  and  many  sweet,  stolen  interview's,  during  the  periods 
in  which  Caroline's  father  and  mother  were  away  making 
merry  at  the  house  of  their  son-in-law ;  and  while  she  was 
left  under  the  care  of  her  virtue  and  of  Becky  the  maid. 
Indeed,  it  was  a  blessing  that  the  latter  was  left  in  the 
joint  guardianship.  For  Becky,  who  had  such  an  absurd 
opinion  of  her  young  lady's  merits  as  to  fancy  that  she  was 
a  fit  wife  for  any  gentleman  of  the  land,  and  that  any 
gentleman  might  be  charmed  and  fall  in  love  with  her, 
had  some  instinct,  or  possibly  some  experience,  as  to 
the  passions  and  errors  of  youth,  and  warned  Caroline 
accordingly.  "  If  he's  really  in  love,  Miss,  and  I 
think  he  be,  he'll  marry  you ;  if  he  won't  marry  you,  he's 
a  i-ascal,  and  3'ou're  too  good  for  him,  and  must  have 
nothing  to  do  with  him."  To  which  Caroline  replied,  that 
she  was  sure  Mr.  Brandon  was  the  most  angelic,  high- 
principled  of  human  beirgs,  and  that  she  was  sure  his 
intentions  were  of  the  most  honorable  description. 


84  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

We  have  before  described  what  Mr.  Brandon's  character 
was.  He  was  not  a  man  of  honorable  intentions  at  all. 
But  he  was  a  gentleman  of  so  excessively  eager  a  tempera- 
ment that  if  properly  resisted  by  a  practiced  coquette,  or 
by  a  woman  of  strong  principles,  he  would  sacrifice  any- 
thing to  obtain  his  ends,  —  nay,  marry  to  obtain  them;  and, 
considering  his  disposition,  it  is  only  a  wonder  that  he  had 
not  been  married  a  great  number  of  times  already ;  for  he 
had  been  in  love  perpetually  since  his  seventeenth  year. 
By  which  the  reader  may  pretty  well  appreciate  the  virtue 
or  the  prudence  of  the  ladies  with  whom  hitherto  our 
inflammable  young  gentleman  had  had  to  do. 

The  fruit,  then,  of  all  his  stolen  interviews,  of  all  his 
prayers,  vows,  and  protestations  to  Caroline,  had  been  only 
this,  — that  she  loved  him  ;  but  loved  him  as  an  honest  girl 
sliould,  and  was  ready  to  go  to  the  altar  with  him  when  he 
chose.  He  talked  about  his  family,  his  peculiar  circum- 
stances, his  proud  father's  curse.  Little  Caroline  only 
sighed,  and  said  her  dearest  George  must  wait  until  he 
could  obtain  his  parent's  consent.  When  pressed  harder, 
she  would  burst  into  tears,  and  wonder  how  one  so  good 
and  affectionate  as  he  could  propose  to  her  anything 
unworthy  of  them  both.  It  is  clear  to  see  that  the  young 
lady  had  read  a  vast  number  of  novels,  and  knew  something 
of  the  nature  of  love ;  and  that  she  had  a  good  principle 
and  honesty  of  her  own,  which  set  her  lover's  schemes  at 
naught :  indeed,  she  had  both  these  advantages,  —  her  edu- 
cation, such  as  it  was,  having  given  her  the  one,  and  her 
honest  nature  having  endowed  her  with  the  other. 

On  the  day  when  Fitch  came  down  to  Caroline  with  his 
verses,  Brandon  had  pressed  these  unworthy  propositions 
upon  her.  She  had  torn  herself  violently  away  from  him, 
and  rushed  to  the  door ;  but  the  poor  little  thing  fell  before 
she  could  reach  it,  screaming  in  a  fit  of  hysterics,  which 
brought  Becky  to  her  aid,  and  caused  Brandon  to  leave  her, 
abashed.  He  went  out ;  she  watched  him  go,  and  stole  up 
into  his  room,  and  laid  on  his  table  the  first  letter  she  had 
ever  written  to  him.  It  was  written  in  pencil,  in  a  trem- 
bling, school-girl  hand,  and  contained  simply  the  following 
words  :  — 

"  George,  you  liave  almost  broken  my  heart.  Leave  me  if  you  will, 
and  if  you  dare  not  act  like  an  lionest  inan.  If  you  ever  speak  to  me 
so  aijaiii  as  you  did  this  morning,  I  declare  solemnly  before  heaven,  I 
will  take  poison.  C." 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY,  85 

Indeed,  the  poor  thing  had  read  romances  to  some 
purpose  ;  without  them,  it  is  probable,  she  never  would 
have  thought  of  such  a  means  of  escape  from  a  lover's  per- 
secutions;  and  there  was  something  in  the  girl's  character 
that  made  Brandon  feel  sure  that  she  would  keep  her 
promise.  How  the  words  agitated  him  !  He  felt  a  violent 
mixture  of  raging  disappointment  and  admiration,  and 
loved  the  girl  ten  thousand  times  more  than  ever. 

Mr.  Brandon  had  scarcely  tiuished  the  reading  of  this 
document,  and  was  yet  agitated  by  the  various  passions 
which  the  perusal  of  it  created,  when  the  door  of  his  apart- 
ment was  violently  flung  open,  and  some  one  came  in. 
Brandon  started,  and  turned  round,  with  a  kind  of  dread 
that  Caroline  had  already  executed  her  threat,  and  that  a 
messenger  was  come  to  inform  him  of  her  death.  Mr. 
Andrea  Fitch  was  the  intruder.  His  hat  was  on  —  his  eyes 
were  glaring ;  and  if  the  beards  of  men  did  stand  on  end 
anywhere  but  in  poems  and  romances,  his,  no  doubt,  would 
have  formed  round  his  comitenance  a  bristling  auburn  halo. 
As  it  was,  Fitch  only  looked  astonishingly  fierce,  as  he 
stalked  up  to  the  table,  his  hands  behind  his  back.  When 
he  had  arrived  at  this  barrier  between  himself  and  Mr. 
Brandon,  he  stopped,  and,  speechless,  stared  that  gentleman 
in  the  face. 

"May  I  beg,  Mr.  Fitch,  to  know  what  has  procured  me 
the  honor  of  this  visit  ?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Brandon,  after  a 
brief  pause  of  wonder. 

"  Honor  !  —  ha,  ha,  ha ! "  growled  ^Ir.  Fitch,  in  a  most 
sardonic,  discordant  way  —  "  honor!  " 

. "  Well,  sir,  honor  or  no  honor,  I  can  tell  you,  my  good 
man,  it  certainly  is  no  pleasure !  "  said  Brandon,  testily. 
"  In  plain  English,  then,  what  the  devil  has  brought  you 
here  ?  " 

Fitch  plumped  the  album  down  on  the  table  close  to  INIr. 
Brandon's  nose,  and  said,  "  That  has  brought  me,  sir  —  that 
halbum,  sir  ;  or,  I  ask  your  pardon,  that  a  —  album  —  ha, 
ha,  ha ! " 

"  Oh,  I  see  !  "  said  IMr.  Brandon,  who  could  not  refrain 
from  a  smile.  "  It  was  a  cruel  trick  of  mine,  Fitch,  to  rob 
you  of  your  verses  ;  but  all's  fair  in  love." 

"  Fitch,  sir  !  don't  Fitch  me,  sir  !  I  wish  to  be  hintimate 
honly  with  men  of  h-honor,  not  with  forgers,  sir  ;  not  with 
'artless  miscreants!  ^liscreants,  sir,  I  repeat;  vipers,  sir; 
b  —  b  —  b  —  blackguards,  sir !  " 


S6  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

"  Blackguards,  sir  !  "  roared  Mr.  Brandon,  bouncing  up ; 
"  blackguards,  jou  dirty  cockney  mountebank !  Quit  the 
room,  sir,  or  I'll  fling  you  out  of  the  window  ! " 

"  Will  you,  sir  ?  try,  sir  ;  I  wish  you  may  get  it,  sir.  I'm 
a  hartist,  sir,  and  as  good  a  man  as  you.  Miscreant,  forger, 
traitor,  come  on  I  " 

And  Mr.  Brandon  ivoidd  have  come  on,  but  for  a  circum- 
stance that  deterred  him ;  and  this  was,  that  Mr.  Fitch 
drew  from  his  bosom  a  long,  sharp,  shining,  waving  poniard 
of  the  middle  ages,  that  formed  a  part  of  his  artistical 
properties,  and  with  which  he  had  armed  himself  for  this 
encounter. 

"  Come  on,  sir ! "  shrieked  Fitch,  brandishing  this  fearful 
weapon.  "  Lay  a  flnger  on  me,  and  I  bury  this  blade  in 
your  treacherous  'art.     Ha !  do  you  tremble  ?  " 

Indeed,  the  aristocratic  Mr.  Brandon  turned  somewhat 
pale. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he,  "  what  do  you  want  ?  Do  you 
suppose  I  am  to  be  bidlied  by  your  absurd  melodramatic 
airs  !  It  was,  after  all,  but  a  joke,  sir,  and  I  am  sorry  that 
it  has  offended  you.     Can  I  say  more  ?  —  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"You  shall  hapologize ;  not  only  to  me,"  sir,  but  you  shall 
tell  Miss  Caroline,  in  my  presence,  that  5^ou  stole  those 
verses  from  me,  and  used  them  quite  unauthorized  by  me." 

"  Look  you,  Mr.  Fitch,  I  will  make  you  another  set  of 
verses  quite  as  good,  if  you  like ;  but  what  you  ask  is  im- 
possible." 

"I  will  'asten  myself,  then,  to  Miss  Caroline,  and  ac- 
quaint her  with  j^our  dastardly  forgery,  sir.  I  will  hopen 
her  heyes,  sir ! " 

"You  may  hopen  her  heyes,  as  you  call  them,  if  you 
please ;  but  I  tell  you  fairly,  that  the  young  lady  will  credit 
me  rather  than  you ;  and  if  you  swear  ever  so  much  that 
the  verses  are  yours,  I  must  say  that  —  " 

"  Say  what,  sir  ?  " 

"  Say  that  you  lie,  sir  !  "  said  Mr.  Brandon,  stamping  on 
the  ground.  "  I'll  make  you  other  verses,  I  repeat ;  but 
this  is  all  I  can  do,  and  now  go  about  your  business  ! " 

"  Curse  your  verses,  sir  !  liar  and  forger  yourself !  Hare 
you  a  coward  as  well,  sir  ?  A  coward !  yes,  I  believe  you 
are ;  or  will  you  meet  me  to-morrow  morning  like  a  man, 
and  give  me  satisfaction  for  this  infamous  insult?  " 

"  Sir,"  said  INIr.  Brandon,  with  the  utmost  stateliness  and 
scorn,  "  if  you  wish  to  murder  me  as  you  do  the  king's  Eng- 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  87 

lish,  I  won't  balk  you.  Although  a  man  of  my  rank  is  not 
called  upon  to  meet  a  blackguard  of  your  condition,  I  will, 
nevertheless,  grant  you  your  will.  But  have  a  care ;  by 
heavens,  I  won't  spare  you,  and  I  can  hit  an  ace  of  hearts 
at  twenty  paces  !  " 

"  Two  can  play  at  that,"  said  i\Ir.  Fitch,  calmly ;  ''and  if 
I  can't  hit  a  hace  of  'arts  at  twenty  paces,  I  can  hit  a  man 
at  twelve,  and  to-morrow  I'll  try."  With  which,  giving 
^[r.  Brandon  a  look  of  the  highest  contem})t,  the  young 
painter  left  the  room. 

What  were  Mr.  Brandon's  thoughts  as  his  antagonist  left 
him  ?  Strange  to  say,  rather  agreeable.  He  had  much  too 
great  a  contempt  for  Fitch  to  suppose  that  so  low  a  fellow 
would  ever  think  serioush^  of  fighting  him,  and  reasoned 
with  himself  thus  :  — 

''  This  Fitch,  I  know,  will  go  off  to  Caroline,  tell  her  the 
whole  transaction,  frighten  her  with  the  tale  of  a  duel,  and 
then  she  and  I  will  have  a  scene.  I  will  tell  her  the  truth 
about  those  infernal  verses,  menace  death,  blood,  and  dan- 
ger, and  then  —  " 

Here  he  fell  back  into  a  charming  reverie ;  the  wily  fel- 
low knew  what  power  such  a  circumstance  would  give  him 
over  a  jioor  weak  girl,  who  would  do  anything  rather  than 
that  her  beloved  should  risk  his  life.  And  with  this  das- 
tardly speculation  as  to  the  price  he  should  ask  for  refrain- 
ing from  meeting  Fitch,  he  was  entertaining  himself;  when, 
much  to  his  annoyance,  that  gentleman  again  came  into  the 
room. 

"\\rr.  Brandon,"  said  he,  "you  have  insulted  me  in  the 
grossest  and  cruellest  way." 

"'  Well,  sir,  are  you  come  to  apologize  ?  "  said  Brandon 
sneeringly. 

"  Xo,  I'm  not  come  to  apologize,  Mr.  Aristocrat :  it's  past 
that.  I'm  come  to  say  this,  sir,  that  I  take  j^ou  for  a  cow- 
ard ;  and  that,  unless  you  give  me  j'our  solemn  word  of 
honor  not  to  mention  a  Avord  of  this  quarrel  to  ^liss  Gann, 
\\  Inch  might  prevent  our  meeting,  I  will  never  leave  you 
till  we  do  light !  " 

"This  is  outrageous,  sir  !  Leave  the  room,  or  by  heavens 
I'll  not  meet  you  at  all ! " 

••  Heasy,  sir ;  easy,  I  beg  vour  pardon,  I  can  force  vou  to 
that ! " 

"And  how,  pra}',  sir.?  " 

"Why,  in  the  first  place,  here's  a  stick,  and  I'll  'orsewhip 


88  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

you;  and  here  are  a  pair  of  pistols,  and  we  can  fight 
now ! " 

•'  Well,  sir,  I  give  you  my  honor,"  said  jVIr.  Brandon,  in  a 
diabolical  rage  ;  and  added,  "  I'll  meet  you  to-morrow,  not 
now  ;   and  you  need  not  be  afraid  that  I'll  miss  you  ! " 

"Hadew,  sir,"  said  the  chivalrous  little  Fitch;  '-bon 
giorno,  sir,  as  we  used  to  say  at  liome/''  And  so,  for  the 
second  time,  he  left  Mr.  Brandon,  who  did  not  like  very 
well  the  extraordinary  courage  he  had  displayed. 

"  What  the  deuce  has  exasperated  the  fellow  so  ? " 
thought  Brandon. 

Why,  in  the  first  place,  he  had  crossed  Fitch  in  love  ; 
and,  in  the  second,  he  had  sneered  at  his  pronunciation  and 
his  gentility,  and  Fitch's  little  soul  was  in  a  fury  which 
nothing  but  blood  would  allay  :  he  was  determined,  for  the 
sake  of  his  hart  and  his  lady,  to  bring  this  proud  champion 
down. 

So  Brandon  was  at  last  left  to  his  cogitations ;  when, 
confusion !  about  five  o'clock  came  another  knock  at  his 
door. 

"  Come  in  ! "  growled  the  owner  of  the  lodgings. 

A  sallow,  blear-eyed,  rickety,  undersized  creature,  totter- 
ing upon  a  pair  of  high-heeled  lacquered  boots,  and  support- 
ing himself  upon  an  immense  gold-knobbed  cane,  entered 
the  room  Avith  his  hat  on  one  side  and  a  jaunty  air.  It  was 
a  white  hat  with  a  broad  brim,  and  under  it  fell  a  great 
deal  of  greasy  lank  hair  that  shrouded  the  cheek-bones  of 
the  wearer.  The  little  man  had  no  beard  to  his  chin,  ap- 
peared about  twenty  years  of  age,  and  might  Aveigh,  stick 
and  all,  some  seven  stone.  If  you  wish  to  know  how  this 
exquisite  was  dressed,  I  have  the  pleasure  to  inform  you 
that  he  wore  a  great  sky-blue  embroidered  satin  stock,  in 
which  figured  a  carbuncle  that  looked  like  a  lambent  goose- 
berr}^  He  had  a  shawl-waistcoat  of  many  colors ;  a  pair  of 
loose  blue  trousers,  neatly  strapped  to  show  his  little  feet :  a 
brown  cut-away  coat  with  brass  buttons,  that  fitted  tight 
round  a  spider  waist ;  and  over  all  a  white  or  drab  surtout, 
with  a  sable  collar  and  cuffs,  from  which  latter  on  each  hand 
peeped  five  little  fingers  covered  with  lemon-colored  kid 
gloves.  One  of  these  hands  he  held  constantly  to  his  little 
chest :  and,  with  a  hoarse  thin  voice,  he  piped  out,  — 

"  George  my  buck  !  how  goes  it  ?  " 

We  have  been  thus  particular  in  our  description  of  the 
costume  of  this  individual  (whose  imvard  mail  strongly  cor- 


A    SHABBY   GEXTEEL   STORY 


89 


responded  with  liis  manly  and  agreeable  exterior),  because 
he  was  the  person  whom  Mr.  Brandon  most  respected  in  the 
world. 

"  CiXQBARS  ! "  exclaimed  our  hero  :  "  why,  what  the  deuce 
has  brought  you  to  Margate  ?  " 

"  Fwendship,  my  old  cock  !  "  said  the  Honorable  Augus- 
tus Frederick  Kingwood,  commonly  called  Viscount  Cinq- 
bars,  for  indeed  it  was  he.     ''  Fwendship  and  the  City  of 


Canterhuwy  steamer  I "  and  herewith  his  lordship  held 
out  his  riu^ht-hand  forefinger  to  Brandon,  who  enclosed  it 
most  cordialh^  in  all  his.  "Wathn't  it  good  of  me,  now, 
George,  to  come  down  and  conthole  you  in  thith  curthed, 
thtupid  place  —  hay  now  ?  "  said  my  lord,  after  these 
salutations. 

Brandon  swore  he  was  ver}^  glad  to  see  him,  which  was 
very  true,  for  he  had  no  sooner  set  his  eyes  upon  his  lord- 
ship, than  he  had  determined  to  borrow  as  much  money 
from  him  as  ever  he  could  induce  the  young  nobleman  to 
part  with. 


90  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

"  I'll  tell  you  how  it  wath,  my  boy :  you  thee  I  wath 
thtopping  at  Long'th,  when  I  found,  by  Jove,  that  the 
governor  wath  come  to  town !  Cuth  me  if  I  didn't  meet 
the  infarnal  old  family  dwag  with  my  mother,  thithterth, 
and  all,  ath  I  wath  dwdving  a  hack-cab  with  Polly  Tomkinth 
in  the  Pawk !  Tho  when  I  got  home,  '  Hang  it ! '  thayth 
I  to  Tufthunt,  '  Tom  my  boy,'  thaith  I,  '  I've  just  theen  the 
governor,  and  must  be  off ! '  '  What,  back  to  Ockthford  ?  ' 
thaith  Tom.  'No,'  thaith  I,  'that  ivon't  do.  Abroad  — to 
Jewicho  —  anywhere.  Egad,  I  have  it!  I'll  go  down  to 
Margate  and  thee  old  George,  that  I  will.'  And  tho  off  I 
came  the  very  next  day ;  and  here  I  am,  and  thereth  dinner 
waiting  for  uth  at  the  hotel,  and  thixth  bottleth  of  cham- 
pagne in  ithe,  and  thum  thalmon  :  tho  you  mutht  come  ! " 

To  this  proposition  Mr.  Brandon  readily  agreed,  being 
glad  enough  of  the  prospect  of  a  good  dinner  and  some 
jovial  society,  for  he  was  low  and  disturbed  in  spirits,  and 
so  promised  to  dine  with  his  friend  at  the  "  Sun." 

The  two  gentlemen  conversed  for  some  time  longer. 
Mr.  Brandon  was  a  shrewd  fellow,  and  knew  perfectly 
well  a  fact  of  which,  no  doubt,  the  reader  has  a  notion  — 
namely,  that  Lord  Cinqbars  was  a  ninny  ;  but,  nevertheless, 
Brandon  esteemed  him  highly  as  a  lord.  We  pardon  stu- 
pidity in  lords ;  nature  or  instinct,  however  sarcastic  a 
man  may  be  among  ordinary  persons,  renders  him  towards 
men  of  quality  benevolently  blind :  a  divinity  hedges  not 
only  the  king,  but  the  whole  peerage. 

*•'  That's  the  girl,  I  suppose,"  said  my  lord,  knowingly 
winking  at  Brandon:  ''that  little  pale  girl,  who  let  me  in, 
I  mean.  A  nice  little  filly,  upon  my  honor,  Georgy  my 
buck ! " 

"Oh  —  that  —  yes  —  I  wrote,  I  think,  something  about 
her,"  said  Brandon,  blushing  slightly ;  for,  indeed,  he  now 
began  to  wish  that  his  friend  should  make  no  comments 
upon  a  young  lady  with  whom  he  was  so  much  in  love. 

"  I  suppose  it's  all  up  now  ?  "  continued  my  lord,  look- 
ing still  more  knowing.  "All  over  with  her,  hay  ?  I  saw 
it  was  by  her  looks,  in  a  minute." 

"  Indeed  you  do  me  a  great  deal  too  much  honor.  ]\Iiss 
—  ah,  —  Miss  Gann  is  a  very  respectable  young  person, 
and  I  would  not  for  the  world  have  you  to  suppose  that 
I  would  do  anything  that  should  the  least  injure  her 
character." 

At  this  speech,  Lord  Cinqbars  was  at  first  much  puzzled; 


i 

A    SHABBY   GENTEEL    STORY.  91 

t 

but,  ill  considering  it,  was  fully  convinced  that  Brandon 
was  a  deeper  dog  than  ever.  Boiling  with  impatience  to 
know  the  particulars  of  this  delicate  intrigue,  this  cunning 
diplomatist  determined  he  would  pump  the  whole  story  out 
of  Brandon  by  degrees ;  and  so,  in  the  course  of  half  an 
hour's  conversation  that  the  young  men  had  together, 
Cinqbars  did  not  make  less  than  forty  allusions  to  the 
subject  that  interested  him.  At  last  Brandon  cut  him 
short  rather  haughtily,  by  begging  that  he  would  make  no 
further  allusions  to  the  subject,  as  it  Avas  one  that  was 
excessively  disagreeable  to  him. 

In  fact,  there  was  no  mistake  about  it  now.  Georrje  Bran- 
don was  in  love  with  Caroline.  He  felt  that  he  was  while 
he  blushed  at  his  friend's  alluding  to  her,  while  he  grew 
indignant  at  the  young  lord's  coarse  banter  about  her. 

Turning  the  conversation  to  another  point,  he  asked 
Cinqbars  about  his  voyage,  and  whether  he  had  brought 
any  companion  with  him  to  Margate  ;  whereupon  my  lord 
related  all  his  feats  in  London,  how  he  had  been  to  the 
watch-house,  how  many  bottles  of  champagne  he  had  drunk, 
how  he  had  "  milled  "  a  policeman,  «&c.,  &c. ;  and  he  con- 
cluded by  saying  that  he  had  come  down  with  Tom  Tuft- 
hunt,  who  was  at  the  inn  at  that  very  moment  smoking  a 
cigar. 

This  did  not  increase  Brandon's  good-humor ;  and  when 
Cinqbars  mentioned  his  friend's  name,  Brandon  saluted  it 
mentally  with  a  hearty  curse.  These  two  gentlemen  hated 
each  other  of  old.  Tufthunt  was  a  small  college  man  of 
no  family,  with  a  foundation  fellowship ;  and  it  used  to  be 
considered  that  a  sporting  fellow  of  a  small  college  was  a 
sad,  raffish,  disreputable  character.  Tufthunt,  then,  was  a 
vulgar  fellow,  and  Brandon  a  gentleman,  so  they  hated 
each  other.  They  w^ere  both  toadies  of  the  same  nobleman, 
so  they  hated  each  other.  They  had  had  some  quarrel  at 
college  about  a  disputed  bet,  which  Brandon  knew  he 
owed,  and  so  they  hated  each  other;  and  in  their  words 
about  it  Brandon  had  threatened  to  horsewhip  Tufthunt, 
and  called  him  a  "  sneaking,  swindling,  small  college 
snob ; "  and  so  little  Tufthunt,  who  had  not  resented 
^he  words,  hated  Brandon  far  more  than  Brandon  hated 
him.  The  latter  only  had  a  contempt  for  his  rival,  and 
voted  him  a  profound  bore  and  vulgarian. 

So,  althougli  Mr.  Tufthunt  did  not  choose  to  frequent 
Mr.  Brandon's  rooms,  he  was  very  anxious  that  his  friend, 


I 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY 


the  young  lord,  should  not  fall  into  his  old  bear-leader's 
hands  again,  and  came  down  to  Margate  to  counteract  any 
influence  which  the  arts  of  Brandon  might  acquire. 

"Curse  the  fellow!"  thought  Tufthunt  in  his  heart 
(there  was  a  fine  reciprocity  of  curses  between  the  two 
men) ;  "  he  has  drawn  Cinqbars  already  for  fifty  pounds 
this  year,  and  will  have  some  half  of  his  last  remittance,  if 
I  don't  keep  a  lookout,  the  swindling  thief !  " 

And  so  frightened  was  Tufthunt  at  the  notion  of  Bran- 
don's return  to  power,  and  dishonest  use  of  it,  that  he  was 
at  the  time  on  the  point  of  writing  to  Lord  Kingwood  to 
tell  him  of  his  son's  doings,  only  he  wanted  some  money 
deucedly  himself.  Of  Mr.  Tufthunt's  phijslque  and  history 
it  is  necessary  merely  to  say  that  he  was  the  son  of  a 
country  attorney  who  was  agent  to  a  lord;  he  had  been 
sent  to  a  foundation-school,  where  he  distinguished  him- 
self for  ten  years,  by  fighting  and  being  flogged  more 
than  any  boy  of  the  five  hundred.  From  the  founda- 
tion-school he  went  to  college  with  an  exhibition,  which 
was  succeeded  by  a  fellowship,  which  was  to  end  in  a 
living.  In  his  person  Mr.  Tufthunt  was  short  and  bow- 
legged  ;  he  wore  a  sort  of  clerico-sporting  costume,  consist- 
ing of  a  black  straight-cut  coat  and  light  drab  breeches, 
with  a  vast  number  of  buttons  at  the  ankles ;  a  sort  of 
dress  much  affectioned  by  sporting  gentleinen  of  the  uni- 
versity in  the  author's  time. 

Well,  Brandon  said  he  had  some  letters  to  write,  and 
promised  to  follow  his  friend,  which  he  did ;  but,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  so  infatuated  was  the  young  man 
become  with  his  passion,  with  the  resistance  he  had  met 
with,  and  so  nervous  from  the  various  occurrences  of  the 
morning,  that  he  passed  the  half-hour  during  which  he 
was  free  from  Cinqbars's  society  in  kneeling,  imploring, 
weeping  at  Caroline's  little  garret-door,  which  had  remained 
pitilessly  closed  to  him.  He  was  wild  with  disappoint- 
ment, mortification  —  mad,  longing  to  see  her.  The  clev- 
erest coquette  in  Europe  could  not  have  so  inflamed  him. 
His  first  act  on  entering  the  dinner-room  was  to  drink  off 
a  large  tumbler  of  champagne  ;  and  when  Cinqbars,  in  his 
elegant  way,  began  to  rally  him  upon  his  wildness,  ]\[r. 
Brandon  only  growled  and  cursed  with  frightful  velie- 
mency,  and  applied  again  to  the  bottle.  His  face,  which 
had  been  quite  white,  grew  a  bright  red ;  his  tongue,  which 
had   been  tied,  began  to  chatter  vehemently ;   before  the 


% 

A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  93 

fish  was  off  the  table,  Mr.  Brandon  showed  strong  symp- 
toms of  intoxication ;  before  tlie  desert  appeared,  Mr. 
Tufthimt,  winking  knowingly  to  Lord  Cinqbars,  had  begun 
to  draw  him  out ;  and  Brandon,  with  a  number  of  shrieks 
and  oaths,  was  narrating  the  history  of  his  attachment. 

"Look  you,  Tufthunt,"  said  he  wildly;  "hang  you,  I 
hate  you,  but  I  must  talk !  I've  been,  for  two  months 
noAV,  in  this  cursed  hole ;  in  a  rickety  lodging,  with  a 
vulgar  famil}';  as  vulgar,  by  Jove,  as  you  are  yourself!" 

Mr.  Tufthunt  did  not  like  this  style  of  address  half  so 
much  as  Lord  Cinqbars,  who  was  laughing  immoderately, 
and  to  whom  Tufthunt  whispered  rather  sheepishly,  "  Pooh, 
pooh,  he's  drunk !  " 

"  Drunk !  no,  sir,"  yelled  out  Brandon ;  "  I'm  mad, 
though,  with  the  prudery  of  a  little  devil  of  lifteen,  who 
has  cost  me  more  trouble  than  it  would  take  me  to  seduce 
every  one  of  your  sisters  —  ha,  ha !  every  one  of  the  Miss 
Tufthunts,  by  Jove  !  Miss  Suky  Tufthunt,  ]\Iiss  Dolly 
Tufthunt,  Miss  Anna-Maria  Tufthunt,  and  the  whole 
bunch.  Come,  sir,  don't  sit  scowling  at  me,  or  I'll  brain 
you  with  the  decanter."  (Tufthunt  was  down  again  on 
the  sofa.)  "  I've  borne  with  the  girl's  mother,  and  her 
father,  and  her  sisters,  and  a  cook  in  the  house,  and  a 
scoundrel  of  a  painter,  that  I'm  going  to  light  about  her ; 
and  for  what?  —  wli}',  for  a  letter,  which  says,  'George, 
I'll  kill  myself!  George,  I'll  kill  myself  !'— ha,  ha!  a 
little  devil  like  that  killing  herself  —  ha,  ha!  and  I  —  I 
who  —  who  adore  her,  who  am  mad  for  — " 

"Mad,  I  believe  he  is,"  said  Tufthunt;  and  at  this 
moment  Mr.  Brandon  was  giving  the  most  unequivocal 
signs  of  madness  ;  he  plunged  his  head  into  the  corner  of  the 
sofa,  and  was  kicking  his  feet  violently  into  the  cushions. 

"  You  don't  understand  him.  Tufty  my  boy,"  said  Lord 
Cinqbars,  with  a  ver}^  superior  air.  "  You  ain't  up  to  these 
things,  I  tell  you ;  and  I  suspect,  by  Jove,  that  you  never 
were  in  love  in  your  life.  /  know  what  it  is,  sir.  And  as 
for  Brandon,  heaven  bless  you !  I've  often  seen  him  in  that 
way  when  we  were  abroad.  AVhen  he  has  an  intrigue,  he's 
mad  about  it.  Let  me  see,  there  was  the  Countess  Fritzch, 
at  Baden-Baden ;  there  was  the  woman  at  Pau ;  and  that 
girl  —  at  Paris,  was  it  ?  —  no,  at  Vienna.  He  went  on  just 
so  about  them  all ;  but  I'll  tell  you  what,  when  ice  do  the 
thing,  Ave  do  it  easier,  my  boy,  hay  ?  " 

And   so    saying,  my  lord   cocked   up    his   little    sallow, 


94  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

beardless  face  into  a  grin,  and  then  fell  to  eying  a  glass  of 
execrable  claret  across  a  candle.  An  intr'njue,  as  he  called 
it,  was  the  little  creature's  delight;  and  until  the  time 
should  arrive  when  he  could  have  one  himself,  he  loved  to 
talk  of  those  of  his  friends. 

As  for  Tufthunt,  we  may  fancy  how  that  gentleman's 
previous  affection  for  Brandon  was  increased  by  the  latter's 
brutal  addresses  to  him.  Brandon  continued  to  drink  and 
to  talk,  though  not  always  in  the  sentimental  way  in 
which  he  had  spoken  about  his  loves  and  injuries.  Grow- 
ing presently  madly  jocose  as  he  had  before  been  madly 
melancholy,  he  narrated  to  the  two  gentlemen  the  partic- 
ulars of  his  quarrel  with  Fitch,  mimicking  the  little 
painter's  manner  in  an  excessively  comic  way,  and  giving 
the  most  ludicrous  account  of  his  person,  kept  his  compan- 
ions in  a  roar  of  laughter.  Cinqbars  swore  that  he  would 
see  the  fun  in  the  morning,  and  agreed  that  if  the  painter 
wanted  a  second,  either  he  or  Tufthunt  would  act  for  him. 

Now  my  Lord  Cinqbars  had  an  excessively  clever  ser- 
vant, a  merry  rogue,  whom  he  had  discovered  in  the 
humble  capacity  of  scout's  assistant  at  Christchurch,  and 
raised  to  be  his  valet.  The  chief  duties  of  the  valet  were 
to  black  his  lord's  beautiful  boots,  that  we  have  admired 
so  much,  and  put  his  lordship  to  bed  when  overtaken  with 
liquor.  He  heard  every  word  of  the  young  men's  talk  (it 
being  his  habit,  much  encouraged  by  his  master,  to  join 
occasionally  in  the  conversation)  ;  and  in  the  course  of  the 
night,  when  at  supper  with  Monsieur  Donnerwetter  and 
Mdlle.  Augustine,  he  related  every  word  of  the  talk  above 
stairs,  mimicking  Brandon  quite  as  cleverly  as  the  latter 
had  mimicked  Fitch.  When  then,  after  making  his  com- 
pany laugh  by  describing  Brandon's  love-agonies,  Mr.  Tom 
informed  them  how  that  gentleman  had  a  rival,  with  whom 
he  was  going  to  fight  a  duel  the  next  morning  —  an  artist- 
fellow  with  an  immense  beard,  whose  name  was  Fitch,  to 
to  his  surprise  Mdlle.  Augustine  burst  into  a  scream  of 
laughter,  and  exclaimed,  "  Feesh,  Feesh  !  c'estnotre  homme  ; 
—  it  is  our  man,  sare  !     Saladin,  remember  you  Mr.  Fish  ?" 

Saladin  said  gravely,  ^' Missa  Fis,  Missa  Fis  !  know  'um 
quite  well,  Missa  Fis  !  Painter-man,  big  beard,  gib  Saladin 
bit  injyrubby,  ]\Iissis  lub  Missa  Fis  !  " 

It  was  too  true,  the  fat  lady  was  the  famous  jMrs.  Car- 
RiCKFERGus,  and  she  had  come  all  the  Avay  from  Eome  in 
pursuit  of  her  adored  painter. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

WHICH  THREATENS   DEATH,  BUT  COXTAIXS  A  GREAT  DEAL  OF 
MARRYING. 


S  the  morrow  was  to  be  an 
eventful  clay  in  the  lives  of 
all  the  heroes  and  heroines 
of  this  history,  it  will  be  as 
well  to  state  how  they  passed 
the  night  previous.  Bran- 
don, like  the  English  before 
the  battle  of  Hastings,  spent 
the  evening  in  feasting  and 
carousing;  and  Lord  Cinq- 
bars,  at  twelve  o'clock,  his 
usual  time  after  his  usual 
quantity  of  drink,  was  carried 
up  to  bed  l>y  the  servant  kept 
by  his  lordship  for  tliat  pur- 
pose. 3Ir.  Tufthunt  took  this 
as  a  hint  to  wish  Brandon 
good-night,  at  the  same  time  promisiug  that  he  and  Cinqbars 
would  not  fail  him  in  the  morning  about  the  duel. 

Shall  we  confess  that  ]Mr.  Brandon,  Avhose  excitement  now 
began  to  wear  off,  aud  who  had  a  dreadful  headache,  did  not 
at  all  relish  the  idea  of  the  morrow's  combat  ? 

"  If,"  said  he,  "  I  shoot  this  crack-brained  painter,  all  the 
world  will  cry  out  ^  Murder  ! '  If  he  shoot  me,  all  the  world 
will  laugh  at  me  !  And  yet,  confound  him !  he  seems  so 
bent  upon  blood,  that  there  is  no  escaping  a  meeting." 

"At  any  rate,"  Brandon  thought,  '-there  will  be  no  harm 
in  a  letter  to  Caroline."  So,  on  arriving  at  home,  he  sat 
dowu  and  wrote  a  very  pathetic  one ;  saying  that  he  fought 
in  her  cause,  aud  if  he  died,  his  last  breath  should  be  for  her. 
So  having  written,  lie  jumped  into  bed,  and  did  not  sleep 
one  single  wink  all  niglit.  ^ 

As  Brandon  passed  his  night  like  the  English,  Fitch  went 

95 


96  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

through  his  like  the  Xormans,  in  fasting,  and  mortification, 
and  meditation.  The  poor  fellow  likewise  indited  a  letter 
to  Caroline :  a  very  long  and  strong  one,  interspersed  with 
pieces  of  poetry,  and  containing  the  words  we  have  jnst 
heard  him  utter  out  of  the  window.  Then  he  thought  about 
making  his  will :  but  he  recollected,  and,  indeed,  it  was  a 
bitter  thought  to  the  young  man,  that  there  was  not  cne 
single  soul  in  the  wide  world  who  cared  for  him  —  except, 
indeed,  thought  he,  after  a  pause,  that  poor  Mrs.  Carrick- 
fergus  at  Rome,  who  did  like  me,  and  was  the  oidy  person 
who  ever  bought  my  drawings.  So  he  made  over  all  his 
sketches  to  her,  regulated  his  little  property,  found  that  he 
had  money  enough  to  pay  his  washerwoman  ;  and  so  having 
disposed  of  his  worldly  concerns,  Mr.  Fitch  also  jumped 
into  bed,  and  speedily  fell  into  a  deep  sleep.  Brandon  could 
hear  him  snoring  all  night,  and  did  not  feel  a  bit  the  more 
comfortable  because  his  antagonist  took  matters  so  uncon- 
cernedly. 

Indeed,  our  poor  painter  had  no  guilty  thoughts  in  his 
breast,  nor  any  2:)articular  revenge  against  Brandon,  noAv 
that  the  first  pangs  of  mortified  vanity  were  over.  But, 
with  all  his  vagaries,  he  was  a  man  of  spirit ;  and  after  what 
had  passed  in  the  morning,  the  treason  that  had  been  done 
him,  and  the  insults  heaped  upon  him,  he  felt  that  the  duel 
was  irrevocable.  He  had  a  misty  notion,  imbibed  some- 
where, that  it  Avas  the  part  of  a  gentleman's  duty  to  fight 
duels,  and  had  long  been  seeking  for  an  opportunity. 
"  Suppose  I  do  die,"  said  he,  "  what's  the  odds  ?  Caroline 
doesn't  care  for  me.  Dr.  Wackerbart's  boys  won't  have 
their  drawing-lesson  next  Wednesday ;  and  no  more  will  be 
said  of  poor  Andrea." 

And  now  for  the  garret.  Caroline  was  wraj^ped  up  in  her 
own  woes,  poor  little  soul !  and  in  the  arms  of  the  faithful 
Becky  cried  herself  to  sleep.  But  the  slow  hours  passed  on  ; 
and  the  tide,  which  had  been  out,  now  came  in  ;  and  the 
lamps  Vv^axed  fainter  and  fainter;  and  the  watchman  cried 
six  o'clock ;  and  the  sun  arose  and  gilded  the  minarets  of 
jMargate  ;  and  Becky  got  up  and  scoured  the  steps,  and  the 
kitchen,  and  made  ready  the  lodgers'  breakfasts  ;  and  at 
half-past  eight  there  came  a  thundering  rap  at  the  door,  and 
two  gentlemen,  one  with  a  mahogany  case  under  his  arm, 
asked  for  Mr.  Brandon,  and  were  shown  up  to  his  room  by 
the  astonished  Becky,  who  was  bidden  by  ]\Ir.  Brandon  to 
get  breakfast  for  three. 


A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  97 

The  tliuiideriiig  rap  awakened  Mr.  Fitch,  who  rose  and 
dressed  himself  in  his  best  clothes,  gave  a  twist  of  tlie  curl- 
ing-tongs to  his  beard,  and  conducted  himself  throughout 
with  perfect  coolness.  Nine  o'clock  struck,  and  he  wrapped 
his  cloak  round  him,  and  put  under  his  cloak  that  pair  of 
foils  which  we  have  said  he  possessed,  and  did  not  know  in 
the  least  how  to  use.  However,  he  had  heard  his  camarades 
d' atelier^  at  Paris  and  Eonie,  say  that  they  were  the  best 
weapons  for  duelling ;  and  so  forth  he  issued. 

Becky  was  in  the  passage  as  he  passed  down ;  she  was 
always  scrubbing  there.  ''  Becky,"  said  Fitch,  in  a  hollow 
voice,  "  here  is  a  letter ;  if  I  should  not  return  in  half  an 
hour,  give  it  to  Miss  Gann,  and  promise  on  your  honor  that 
she  shall  not  have  it  sooner."  Becky  promised.  She  thought 
that  the  painter  was  at  some  of  his  mad  tricks.  He  went 
out  of  the  door  saluting  her  gravely. 

But  he  went  only  a  few  steps,  and  came  back  again. 
"  Becky,"  said  he,  "  you  —  you've  always  been  a  good  girl 
to  me,  and  here's  something  for  you ;  per'aps  we  shan't  — ■ 
we  shan't  see  each  other  for  some  time."  The  tears  were  in 
his  eyes  as  he  spoke,  and  he  handed  her  over  seven  shillings 
and  fourpence  halfpenny,  being  every  farthing  he  possessed 
in  the  world. 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  !  "  said  Becky  ;  and  that  was  all  she  said, 
for  she  pocketed  the  money,  and  fell  to  scrubbing  again. 

Presently  the  three  gentlemen  upstairs  came  clattering 
down.  "  Lock  bless  3^ou,  don't  be  in  such  a  'urry  ! "  exclaimed 
Becky  ;  "  it's  full  herly  yet,  and  the  water's  not  biling." 

'^  We'll  come  back  to  breakfast,  my  dear,"  said  one,  a  little 
gentleman  in  high-heeled  boots;  "and,  I  thay,  mind  and 
have  thum  thoda-water."  And  he  walked  out,  twirling  his 
cane.  His  friend  with  the  case  followed  him.  Mr.  Brandon 
came  last. 

He  too  tiu-ned  back  after  he  had  gone  a  few  paces. 
"!^ecky,"  said  he,  in  a  grave  voice,  "if  I  am  not  back  in 
half  an  hour,  give  that  to  Miss  Gann." 

Becky  was  fairly  flustered  by  this ;  and  after  turning  the 
letters  round  and  round,  and  peeping  into  the  sides,  and 
looking  at  the  seals  very  hard,  she  like  a  fool  determined 
that  she  would  not  wait  half  an  hour,  but  carry  them  up  to 
Hiss  Caroline  ;  and  so  up  she  mounted,  finding  prett}^  Caro- 
line in  the  act  of  lacing  her  stays.  And  the  consequences 
of  Becky's  conduct  were  that  little  Carry  left  oft"  lacing  her 
stays  (a  sweet  little  figure  the  poor  thing  looked  in  them ; 

VOL.    I.  —  7 


98  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there),  took  the  letters,  looked 
at  one  which  she  threw  down  directly  ;  at  the  other,  which 
she  eagerly  opened,  and,  having  read  a  line  or  two,  gave  a 
load  scream,  and  fell  down  dead  in  a  fainting  lit ! 

AVaft  ns,  0  Mnse !  to  Mr.  AVright's  hotel,  and  quick  nar- 
rate what  chances  there  befell.  Very  early  in  the  morning 
Mdlle.  Augustine  made  her  appearance  in  the  apartment  of 
Miss  Runt,  and  with  great  glee  informed  that  lady  of  the 
event  which  was  about  to  take  place.  "  Figurez-vous, 
mademoiselle,  que  notre  homme  va  se  battre  —  oh,  but  it 
will  be  droll  to  see  him  sword  in  hand  ! " 

"  Don't  plague  me  with  your  ojous  servants'  quarrels, 
Augustine  ;  that  horrid  courier  is  always  quarrelling  and 
tipsy." 

"  Mon  Dieu,  qu'elle  est  bete  !  "  exclaimed  Augustine  :  "  but 
I  tell  you  it  is  not  the  courier;  it  is  he,  I'objet,  le  peintre 
dont  madame  s'est  amourachee,  Monsieur  Feesh." 

"Mr.  Fitch!"  cried  Runt,  jumping  up  in  bed.  "Mr. 
Fitch  going  to  light  !  Augustine,  my  stockings  —  quick,  my 
rohe-de-chambre  —  tell  me  when,  how,  where  ?  " 

And  so  Augustine  told  her  that  the  combat  vras  to  take 
place  at  nine  that  morning,  behind  the  Windmill,  and  that 
the  gentleman  with  whom  Mr.  Fitch  was  to  go  out  had  been 
dining  at  the  hotel  the  night  previous,  in  company  with  the 
little  milor,  who  was  to  be  his  second. 

Quick  as  lightning  flew  Runt  to  the  chamber  of  her 
patroness.  That  lady  was  in  a  profound  sleep  ;  and  I  leave 
3^ou  to  imagine  what  were  her  sensations  on  awaking  and 
hearing  this  dreadful  tale. 

Such  is  the  force  of  love,  that  although,  for  many  years, 
Mrs.  Carrickfergus  had  never  left  her  bed  before  noon, 
although  in  all  her  wild  wanderings  after  the  painter  she, 
nevertheless,  would  have  her  tea  and  cutlet  in  bed,  and  her 
doze  likewise,  before  she  set  forth  on  a  journey  —  she  nqw 
started  up  in  an  instant,  forgetting  her  nap,  mutton-chops, 
everything,  and  began  dressing  with  a  promptitude  which 
can  only  be  equalled  by  Harlequin  when  disguising  himself 
in  a  pantomime.  She  would  have  had  an  attack  of  nerves, 
only  she  knew  there  was  no-  time  for  it;  and  I  do  believe 
that  twenty  minutes  were  scarcely  over  her  head,  as  the 
sa3dng  is,  when  her  bonnet  and  cloak  were  on,  and  Avith  her 
whole  suite,  and  an  inn-waiter  or  two  whom  she  pressed  into 
her  service,  she  was  on  full  trot  to  the  field  of  action.     For 


A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY.  99 

twputy  years  before,  and  from  that  day  to  this,  Marianne 
Carrickfergus  never  had  or  has  walked  so  quickly. 

"Hullo,  here^th  a  go ! "  exclaimed  Lord  Viscount  Cinq- 
bars,  as  they  arrived  on  the  ground  behind  the  Windmill ; 
"  cuth  me  there'th  only  one  man  !  " 

This  was  indeed  the  case  ;  Mr.  Fitch,  in  his  great  cloak, 
was  pacing  slowly  up  and  down  the  grass,  his  shadow 
stretching  far  in  the  sunshine.  Mr.  Fitch  was  alone  too; 
for  the  fact  is,  he  had  never  thought  about  a  second.  This 
he  admitted  frankly,  bbwing  with  much  majesty  to  the 
company  as  they  came  up.  "  But  that,  gents, "  said  he, 
"will  make  no  difference,  I  hope,  nor  prevent  fair  play 
from  being  done."  And,  flinging  off  his  cloak,  he  produced 
the  foils,  from  which  the  buttons  had  been  taken  off.  He 
went  up  to  Brandon,  and  was  for  offering  him  one  of  the 
weapons,  just  as  they  do  at  the  theatre.  Brandon  stepped 
back,  rather  abashed :  Cinqbars  looked  posed ;  Tufthunt 
delighted.  "Ecod,"  said  he,  "I  hope  the  bearded  fellow 
will  give  it  him." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brandon  ;  '•  as  the  challenged 
party,  I  demand  pistols." 

Mr.  Eitch,  with  great  presence  of  mind  and  gracefulness, 
stuck  the  swords  into  the  grass. 

"  Oh,  pithtolth  of  courth,"  lisped  my  lord  ;  and  presently 
called  aside  Tufthunt,  to  whom  he  whispered  something  in 
great  glee ;  to  which  Tufthunt  objected  at  first,  saying, 
"  No,  d —  him,  let  him  fight."  "  And  your  fellowship  and 
living.  Tufty  my  boy ;  "  interposed  my  lord ;  and  then  they 
walked  on.  After  a  couple  of  minutes,  during  which  -Mr. 
Eitch  was  employed  in  examining  Mr.  Brandon  from  the 
toe  ujnvards  to  the  crown  of  his  head  or  hat,  just  as  Mr. 
Widdicombe  does  Mr.  Cartlich,  before  those  two  gentlemen 
proceed  to  join  in  combat  on  the  boards  of  Astley's  Amphi- 
theatre (indeed  poor  Eitch  had  no  other  standard  of  chiv- 
alry)—  when  Eitch  had  concluded  this  examination,  of 
which  Brandon  did  not  knoAv  what  the  deuce  to  make. 
Lord  Cinqbars  came  back  to  the  painter,  and  gave  him  a 
nod. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "'  as  you  have  come  unprovided  with  a 
second,  I,  with  your  leave,  will  act  as  one.  My  name  is 
Cinqbars  —  Lord  Cinqbars  ;  and  though  I  had  come  to  the 
ground  to  act  as  the  friend  of  my  friend  here,  Mr.  Tufthunt 
will  take  that  duty  upon  him ;  and  as  it  appears  to  me 


100  A    SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

there  can  be  no  other  end  to  this  unhappy  affair^  we  will 
proceed  at  once." 

It  is  a  marvel  how  Lord  Cinqbars  ever  made  such  a  gen- 
tlemanly speech.  When  Fitch  heard  that  lie  was  to  have  a 
lord  for  a  second,  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  chest,  and  vowed 
it  was  the  greatest  h-honor  of  his  life  ;  and  was  turning 
round  to  walk  towards  his  ground,  when  my  lord,  gracefully 
thrusting  his  tongue  into  his  cheek,  and  bringing  his  thumb 
up  to  his  nose,  twiddled  about  his  lingers  for  a  moment,  and 
said  to  Brandon,  "  Gammon  !  " 

Mr.  Brandon  smiled,  and  heaved  a  great,  deep,  refreshing 
sigh.  The  truth  was,  a  load  was  taken  off  his  mind,  of 
which  he  was  very  glad  to  be  rid ;  for  there  was  something 
in  the  coolness  of  that  crazy  painter  that  our  fashionable 
gentleman  did  not  at  all  approve  of. 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Tufthunt,"  said  Lord  Cinqbars,  very  loud, 
"that  considering  the  gravity  of  the  case  —  threatening 
horse-whipping,  you  know,  lie  on  both  sides,  and  lady  in  the 
case  —  I  think  we  must  have  the  barrier  duel." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  asked  Fitch. 

"The  simplest  thing  in  the  world;  and,"  in  a  Avhisper, 
"  let  me  add,  the  best  for  you.  Look  here.  We  shall  put 
yon  at  twenty  paces,  and  a  hat  between  you.  You  walk 
forward  and  hre  when  you  like.  When  you  fire,  you  stop  ; 
and  you  both  have  the  liberty  of  walking  up  to  the  hat. 
I^othing  can  be  more  fair  than  that." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Fitch ;  and,  wdth  a  great  deal  of  prep- 
aration, the  pistols  were  loaded. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  whispered  Cinqbars  to  Fitch,  "  if  I 
hadfi't  chosen  this  way  you  were  a  dead  man.  If  he  fires 
he  hits  you  dead.  You  must  not  let  him  lire,  but  have  him 
down  first." 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Fitch,  who  was  a  little  pale,  and  thanked 
his  noble  friend  for  his  counsel.  The  hat  was  placed  and 
the  men  took  their  places. 

"  Are  you  all  ready  ?  " 

" Eeady,"  said  Brandon. 

"Advance  when  I  drop  my  handkerchief."  And  pres- 
ently down  it  fell,  Lord  Cinqbars  crying,  "Now  !  " 

The  combatants  both  advanced,  each  covering  his  man. 
When  he  had  gone  about  six  paces,  Fitch  stopped,  fired,  and 
—  missed.  He  grasped  his  pistol  tightly,  for  he  was  very 
near  dropping  it;  and  then  stood  biting  his  lips,  and  look- 
ing at  Brandon,  who  grinned  savagely,  and  walked  up  to 
the  hat. 


A   SHABBY  GEyTEEL   STORY.  101 

"Will  yon  retract  what  you  said  of  me  yesterday,  you 
villaiu  ?  "  said  Brandon. 

"  I  can't." 

"Will  you  beg  for  life?" 

":N^o." 

"  Then  take  a  minute,  and  make  your  peace  with  God, 
for  you  are  a  dead  man." 

Fitch  dropped  his  pistol  to  the  ground,  shut  his  eyes  for 
a  moment,  and  flinging  up  his  chest  and  clenching  his  hsts, 
said,  ''  Xow  I^m  ready. '^ 

Brandon  fired  —  and  strange  to  say,  Andrea  Fitch,  as  he 
gasped  and  staggered  backwards,  saw,  or  thought  he  saw, 
Mr.  Brandon's  pistol  flying  up  in  the  air,  where  it  went  off, 
and  heard  that  gentleman  yell  out  an  immense  oath  in  a 
very  audible  voice.  When  he  came  to  himself,  a  thick 
stick  was  lying  at  Brandon's  feet ;  Mr.  Brandon  was  caper- 
ing about  the  ground,  and  cursing  and  shaking  a  maimed 
elbow,  and  a  Avhole  posse  of  people  were  rushing  upon  them. 
The  first  was  the  great  German  courier,  w4io  rushed  upon 
Brandon,  and  shook  that  gentleman,  and  shouting,  "  Schelm  ! 
spitzbube  !  blagard  !  goward  !  "  in  his  ear.  "  If  I  had  not 
drown  my  stick  and  brogen  his  damt  arm,  he  wod  have 
murdered  dat  boor  young  man." 

The  German's  speech  contained  two  unfounded  asser- 
tions ;  in  the  first  place  Brandon  would  not  have  murdered 
Fitch ;  and,  secondly,  his  arm  was  not  broken  —  he  had 
merely  received  a  blow  on  that  part  which  anatomists  call 
the  funny-bone  :  a  severe  blow,  which  sent  the  pistol  spin- 
ning into  the  air,  and  caused  the  gentleman  to  scream  with 
pain.  Two  waiters  seized  upon  the  murderer,  too  ;  a  baker, 
who  had  been  brought  from  his  rounds,  a  bellman,  several 
boys,  —  w^ere  yelling  round  him,  and  shouting  out,  "Po- 
le-e-eace  ! " 

Next  to  these  came,  panting  and  blowing,  some  women. 
Could  Fitch  believe  his  eyes  ?  —  that  fat  woman  in  red 
satin  !  — yes  —  no  —  yes  —  he  was,  he  was  in  the  arms  of 
Mrs.  Carrickfergus  ! 

The  particulars  of  this  meeting  are  too  delicate  to  relate. 
Suffice  it  that  somehow  matters  were  explained,  Mr.  Bran- 
don was  let  loose,  and  a  fly  w^as  presently  seen  to  drive  up, 
into  which  Mr.  Fitch  consented  to  enter  with  his  new- 
found friend. 

Brandon  had  some  srood  movements  in  him.     As  Fitch 


102  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

was  getting  into  the  carriage,  he  walked  up  to  him  and  held 
out  his  left  hand :  "•  I  can't  offer  you  my  right  hand,  Mr. 
Fitch,  for  that  cursed  courier's  stick  has  maimed  it ;  but  I 
hope  you  will  allow  me  to  apologize  for  my  shameful  con- 
duct to  you,  and  to  say  that  I  never  in  my  life  met  a  more 
gallant  fellow  than  yourself." 

"  That  he  is,  by  Jove  ! "  said  my  Lord  Cinqbars. 

Fitch  blushed  as  red  as  a  peony,  and  trembled  very  much. 
"  And  yet,"  said  he,  "  you  would  have  murdered  me  just 
now,  Mr.  Brandon.     I  can't  take  your  'and,  sir." 

"Why,  you  great  flat,"  said  my  lord,  wisely,  "he  couldn't 
have  hurt  you,  nor  you  him.  There  wath  no  ballth  in  the 
pithtolth." 

"What,"  said  Fitch,  starting  back,  "do  you  gents  call 
that  a  joke  ?  Oh,  my  lord,  my  lord  ! "  And  here  poor 
Fitch  actually  burst  into  tears  on  the  red  satin  bosom  of 
Mrs.  Carrickfergus  :  she  and  Miss  Eunt  were  crying  as  hard 
as  they  could.  And  so,  amidst  much  shouting  and  huzzaing, 
the  fly  drove  away. 

"  What  a  blubbering,  abthurd  donkey  !  "  said  Cinqbars, 
with  his  usual  judgment ;   "ain't  he,  Tufthunt  ?  " 

Tufthunt,  of  course,  said  yes ;  but  Brandon  was  in  a  vir- 
tuous mood.  "  By  heavens !  I  think  his  tears  do  the  man 
honor.  When  I  came  out  with  him  this  morning,  I  intended 
to  act  fairly  by  him.  And  as  for  Mr.  Tufthunt,  who  calls  a 
man  a  coward  because  he  cries  —  Mr.  Tufthunt  knows  well 
what  a  pistol  is,  and  that  some  men  don't  care  to  face  it, 
brave  as  they  are." 

Mr.  Tufthunt  understood  the  hint,  and  bit  his  lips  and 
walked  on.  And  as  for  that  worthy  moralist,  Mr.  Brandon, 
I  am  happy  to  say  that  there  was  some  good  fortune  in  store 
for  him,  which,  though  similar  in  kind  to  that  bestowed 
lately  upon  Mr.  Fitch,  was  superior  in  degree. 

It  was  no  other  than  this,  that,  forgetting  all  maidenly 
decency  and  decorum,  before  Lord  Viscount  Cinqbars  and 
his  friend,  that  silly  Uttle  creature,  Caroline  Gann,  rushed 
out  from  the  parlor  into  the  passage  —  she  had  been  at  the 
window  ever  since  she  was  rid  of  her  fainting  fit !  and  ah  ! 
what  agonies  of  fear  had  that  little  panting  heart  endured 
during  the  half-hour  of  her  lover's  absence  !  —  Caroline 
Gann,  I  say,  rushed  into  the  passage,  and  leaped  upon  the 
neck  of  Brandon,  and  kissed  him,  and  call  him  her  dear, 
dear,  dear,  darling  George,  and  sobbed,  and  laughed, 
until  George,  taking  her  round  the  v/aist  gently,  carried 


A    SHABBY   GENTEEL    STORY.  103 

her  into  the    little  dingy  parlor,  and  closed  the   door  be- 
hind him. 

"  Egad,"  cried  Cinqbars,  *'  thith  ith  quite  a  theiie  !  Hullo, 
Becky,  Polly,  what's  your  name  ?  —  bring  uth  up  the  break- 
fatht;  and  I  hope  you've  remembered  the  thoda-water. 
Come  along  up  thtairth,  Tufty  my  boy." 

When  Brandon  came  upstairs  and  joined  them,  which 
he  did  in  a  minute  or  two,  consigning  Caroline  to  Becky's 
care,  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears ;  and  when  Cinqbars  began 
to  rally  him  in  his  usual  delicate  way,  Brandon  said 
gravely,  "No  laughing,  sir,  if  you  please  ;  for  I  swear  that 
that  lady  before  long  shall  be  my  wife." 

"  Your  wife !  —  and  what  will  your  father  say,  and 
what  will  your  duns  say,  and  what  will  Miss  Goldmore  say, 
with  her  hundred  thousand  pounds  ?  "  cried  Cinqbars. 

"Miss  Goldmore  be  hanged,"  said  Brandon,  "and  the 
duns  too ;  and  my  father  may  reconcile  it  to  himself  as  he 
can."     And  here  Brandon  fell  into  a  reverie. 

"It's  no  use  thinking,"  he  cried,  after  a  pause.  "You 
see  what  a  girl  it  is,  Cinqbars.  I  love  her  —  by  heavens, 
I'm  mad  with  love  for  her !  She  shall  be  mine,  let  what 
will  come  of  it.  And  besides,"  he  added,  in  a  lower  tone  of 
voice,  "  Avhy  need,  why  need  my  father  know  anything 
about  it?" 

"  O  flames  and  furies,  what  a  lover  it  is  !  "  exclaimed  his 
friend.  "  But,  by  Jove,  I  like  your  spirit ;  and  hang  all 
governors,  say  I.  Stop  —  a  bright  thought !  If  you  must 
marry,  why  here's  Tom  Tufthunt,  the  very  man  to  do  your 
business."  Little  Lord  Cinqbars  was  delighted  with  the 
excitement  of  the  affair,  and  thought  to  himself,  "  By  Jove, 
this  is  an  intrigue  !  " 

"  What,  is  Tufthunt  in  orders  ?  "  said  Brandon. 

"Yes,"  replied  that  reverend  gentleman:  "don't  you  see 
my  coat  ?  I  took  orders  six  weeks  ago,  on  my  fellowship. 
Cinqbars's  governor  has  promised  me  a  living." 

"  And  you  shall  marry  George  here,  so  you  shall." 

"  What,  without  a  license  ?  " 

"  Hang  the  license  !  —  we  won't  peach,  will  we,  George  ?  " 

"  Her  family  must  know  nothing  of  it,"  said  George,  "or 
they  would." 

"  Why  should  they  ?  Why  shouldn't  Tom  marry  you  in 
this  very  room,  without  any  church  or  stuff  at  all  ?  " 

Tom  said :  "  You'll  hold  me   out,  my  lord,  if  anything 


104  A    SHABBY   GENTEEL    STORY. 

comes  of  it ;  and,  if  Brandon  likes,  wh}^,  I  will.  He's  done 
for  if  he  does,"  muttered  Tuftlmnt,  ''  and  I  have  had  my 
revenge  on  him,  the  bulh'ing,  supercilious  blackleg." 

And  so  on  that  very  day,  in  Brandon's  room,  without  a 
license,  and  by  that  worthy  clergyman  the  Eev.  Thomas 
Tufthunt,  with  my  Lord  Cinqbars  for  the  sole  witness, 
poor  Caroline  Gann,  Avho  knew  no  better,  who  never  heard 
of  licenses,  and  did  not  know  what  banns  meant,  was  mar- 
ried in  a  manner  to  the  person  calling  himself  George 
Brandon;  George  Brandon  not  being  his  real  name. 

No  writings  at  all  were  made,  and  the  ceremony  merely 
read  through.  Becky,  Caroline's  sole  guardian,  when  the 
poor  girl  kissed  her,  and,  blushing,  showed  her  gold  ring, 
thought  all  was  in  order :  and  the  happy  couple  set  off  for 
Dover  that  day,  Avith  fifty  pounds  which  Cinqbars  lent  the 
bridegroom. 

Becky  received  a  little  letter  from  Caroline,  which  she 
promised  to  carry  to  her  mamma  at  Swigby's  :  and  it  was 
agreed  that  she  was  to  give  warning,  and  come  and  live 
with  her  young  lady.  Next  morning  Lord  Cinqbars  and 
Tufthunt  took  the  boat  for  London ;  the  latter  uneasy  in 
mind,  the  former  vowing  tliat  '-he'd  never  spent  such  an  ex- 
citing day  in  his  life,  and  loved  an  intrigue  of  all  things." 

Next  morning,  too,  the  great  travellmg-chariot  of  jNIrs. 
Carrickfergus  rolled  away  with  a  bearded  gentleman  inside. 
Poor  Fitch  had  been  back  to  his  lodgings  to  try  one  more 
chance  with  Caroline,  and  he  arrived  in  time  —  to  see  her 
get  into  a  post-chaise  alone  with  Brandon. 

Six  weeks  afterwards  GalignanVs  Messenger  contained 
the  following  announcement :  — 

^ "  Married  at  the  British  embassy,  by  Bisliop  Luscombe,  Andrew 
Fitch,  Esq.,  to  MMriaiiiie  Caroline  Matilda,  widow  of  the  Into  Autoiiv 
Carrickfergus,  of  Lombard  Street  and  Gloucester  Place,  Esquire,  The 
happy  pair,  after  a  maguiticent  dejeuner,  set  off  lor  the  south  in  their 
splendid  carriage-and-four.  Miss  Kuut  officiated  as  l)ridesmaid ;  and 
we  remarked  among  the  company  Earl  and  Countess  Crabs,  Geueral 
Sir  Rice  Curry,  K.C.B.,  Colonel  Wapshot,  Sir  Charles  Swang,  the 
Hon.  Algernon  Percy  Deuceace  and  h.s  lady,  Count  Punter,  and  others 
of  the  eiite  of  the  fashionables  now  in  Paris.  The  bridegroom  was 
attended  by  his  friend  Michael  Angclo  Titmarsh,  Esquire;  and  the 
lady  was  given  away  by  the  Right  Hon.  the  Earl  of  Crabs.  On  the 
departure  of  the  bride  and  bridegroom  the  festivities  Avere  resumed,  and 
many  a  sparkling  bumper  of  Meurice's  champagne  was  quatf'ed  to  the 
health  of  the  hospitable  and  interesting  couple." 


A    SHABBY   GENTEEL    STORY.  105 

And  with  oue  more  marriage  this  chapter  shall  conclude. 
About  this  time  the  British  Auxiliary  Legion  came  home 
from  Spain;  and  Lieut.-General  Swabber,  a  knight  of  San 
Fernando,  of  the  order  of  Isabella  the  Catliolic,  of  the 
Tower  and  Sword,  who,  as  plain  Lieutenant  Swabber,  had 
loved,  Miss  Isabella  Macarty,  as  a  general  now  actually 
married  her.  I  leave  you  to  suppose  how  glorious  Mrs. 
Gann  was,  and  how  Gann  got  tipsy  at  the  ''  Bag  of  Xails  "  ; 
but  as  her  daughters  each  insisted  upon  their  30/.  a  year 
income,  and  Mrs.  Gann  had  so  only  60/.  left,  she  was 
obliged  still  to  continue  the  lodging-house  at  Margate,  in 
which  have  occurred  the  most  interesting  passages  of  this 

SHABBY  GEXTEEL  STORY. 

Becky  never  went  to  her  young  mistress,  who  was  not 
heard  of  after  she  wrote  the  letter  to  her  parent,  saying 
that  she  was  married  to  Mr.  Brandon  ;  but,  for  imrticular 
reasons,  her  dear  husband  wished  to  keep  his  marriage 
secret,  and  for  the  present  her  beloved  parents  must  be 
content  to  know  she  was  happ^^  Gann  missed  his  little 
Carry  at  lirst  a  good  deal,  but  spent  more  and  more  of  his 
time  at  the  ale-house,  as  his  house  with  only  Mrs.  Gann  in 
it  was  too  hot  for  him.  Mrs.  Gann  talked  unceasingly  of 
her  daughter  the  squire's  ladv,  and  her  daughter  the  gen- 
eral's wife ;  but  never  once  mentioned  Caroline  after  the 
first  burst  of  wonder  and  wrath  at  her  departure. 

God  bless  thee,  poor  Caroline  I  Thou  art  happy  now, 
for  some  short  space  at  least ;  and  here,  therefore,  let  us 
leave  thee. 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

ox  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD  ; 

SHOWING 

WHO  KOBBED  KUl,   WHO  HELPED  HIM,  AND  WHO 
PASSED  HIM  BY. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


CHAPTER  I. 


DOCTOR    FELL. 


.OT  attend  her  own 
son  when  he  is  ill!" 
said  my  mother. 
"  She  does  not  de- 
serve to  have  a 
son!"  And  Mrs. 
Pendennis  looked 
towards  her  own 
only  darling  whilst 
uttering  this  indig- 
nant exclamation. 
As  she  looked,  I 
know  what  passed 
through  her  mind. 
She  nursed  me,  she 
dressed  me  in  little 
caps  and  long- 
clothes,  she  attired 
me  in  my  first 
jacket  and  trousers. 
She  watclied  at  my 
b  e  d  s  i  de  througjfi 
my  infantile  and 
juvenile  ailments. 
She  tended  me 
through  all  my 
life,  she  held  me  to 
her  heart  with  infinite  prayers  and  blessings.  She  is  no 
longer  with  us  to  bless  and  pray ;  but  from  heaven,  where 

111 


112  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

she  is,  I  know  her  love  pursues  me ;  and  often  and  often  I 
think  she  is  here,  only  invisible. 

''  Mrs.  Firmin  would  be  of  no  good,"  growled  Dr.  Good- 
enough.  "  She  would  have  hysterics,  and  the  nurse  would 
have  two  patients  to  look  after." 

"  Don't  tell  me,"  cries  my  mother,  with  a  flush  on  her 
cheeks.  "  Do  you  suppose  if  that  child "  (meaning,  of 
couise,  her  paragon)  "were  ill,  I  would  not  go  to  him  ?" 

"  My  dear,  if  that  child  were  hungry,  you  would  chop 
off  your  head  to  make  him  broth,"  says  the  doctor,  sipping 
his  tea. 

'•'•  Potage  a  la  honne  fem.me,"  says  Mr.  Pendennis. 
"  Mother,  we  have  it  at  the  club.  You  would  be  done  with 
milk,  eggs,  and  a  quantity  of  vegetables.  You  would  be  put 
to  simmer  for  many  hours  in  an  earthen  pan,  and  —  " 

"  Don't  be  horrible,  Arthur ! "  cries  a  young  lady,  wdio 
Avas  my  mother's  companion  of  those  happy  days. 

"  And  people  when  they  knew  you  would  like  you  very 
much." 

My  uncle  looked  as  if  he  did  not  understand  the 
allegory. 

"  What  is  this  you  are  talking  about  ?  jpotage  a  la  —  what- 
d'ye-call-'im  ? "  sa}' s  he.  "I  thought  we  w^ere  speaking  of 
Mrs.  Firmin,  of  Old  Parr  Street.  Mrs.  Firmin  is  a  doosid 
delicate  w^oman,"  interposed  the  Major.  "'All  the  females 
of  that  family  are.  Her  mother  died  early.  Her  sister, 
Mrs.  Twysden,  is  very  delicate.  She  would  be  of  no  more 
use  in  a  sick-room  than  a  —  than  a  bull  in  a  china-shoj), 
begad !  and  she  might  catch  the  fever,  too." 

"  And  so  might  you.  Major  !  "  cries  the  Doctor.  "Aren't 
you  talking  to  me,  who  have  just  come  from  the  boy  ? 
Keep  your  distance,  or  I  shall  bite  you." 

The  old  gentleman  gave  a  little  backward  movement  with 
his  chair. 

"  Gad,  it's  no  joking  matter,"  says  he  ;  "  I've  known  fellows 
catch  fevers  at  —  at  ever  so  much  past  my  age.  At  any 
rate,  the  boy  is  no  boy  of  mine,  begad  !  I  dine  at  Firmin's 
house,  who  has  married  into  a  good  family,  though  he's  only 
a  doctor,  and  —  " 

"And  pray  what  was  my  husband?"  cried  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis. 

"Only  a  doctor,  indeed!"  calls  out  Goodenough.  "My 
dear  creature,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  give  him  the  scarlet 
fever  this  minute  ! " 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        113 

"INIy  fatlier  was  a  surgeon  and  a})otliecaiy,  I  have  heard/' 
says  the  widow's  son. 

"  And  what  then  ?  And  I  shouhl  like  to  know  if  a  man 
of  one  of  the  most  ancient  families  in  the  kingdom  —  in  the 
empire,  begad  !  —  hasn't  a  right  to  pursoo  a  learned,  a  use- 
ful, an  honorable  profession.     My  brother  John  was  —  " 

"A  medical  practitioner  !  "  I  say,  with  a  sigh. 

And  my  uncle  arranges  his  hair,  puts  his  handkerchief  to 
his  teeth,  and  says  — 

"Stuff !  nonsense  —  no  patience  with  these  personalities, 
begad !  Firmin  is  a  doctor,  certainly —  so  are  you —  so  are 
others.  But  Firmin  is  a  university  man,  and  a  gentleman. 
Firmiu  has  travelled.  Firmin  is  intimate  with  some  of  the 
best  people  in  England,  and  has  married  into  one  of  the 
first  families.  Gad,  sir,  do  3'ou  suppose  that  a  woman  bred 
up  in  the  lap  of  luxury  —  in  the  very  lap,  sir  —  at  Eing- 
wood  and  Whipham,  and  at  Eingwood  House  in  Walpole 
Street,  where  she  was  absolute  mistress,  begad  —  do  you 
suppose  such  a  woman  is  fit  to  be  nurse-tender  in  a  sick- 
room ?  She  never  was  fit  for  that,  or  for  anything  except 
— "  (here  the  Major  saw  smiles  on  the  countenances  of 
some  of  his  audience)  —  "  except,  I  say,  to  preside  at  Eing- 
wood House  and  —  and  adorn  society,  and  that  sort  of  thing. 
And  if  such  a  woman  chooses  to  run  away  with  her  uncle's 
doctor,  and  marry  below  her  rank  —  why,  /  don't  think  it's 
a  laughing  matter,  hang  me  if  I  do." 

^'  And  so  she  stops  at  the  Isle  of  Wight,  whilst  the  poor 
boy  remains  at  the  school,"  sighs  my  mother. 

''  Firmin  can't  come  awa3^  He  is  in  attendance  on  the 
Grand  Dook.  The  prince  is  never  easy  ^^ithout  Firmin. 
He  has  given  him  his  Order  of  the  Swan.  The}'  are  moving 
heaven  and  earth  in  high  quarters ;  and  I  bet  3'ou  even, 
Goodenough,  that  that  boy  whom  3'ou  have  been  attending 
will  be  a  baronet  —  if  you  don't  kill  him  off  with  3-our  con- 
founded potions  and  pills,  begad  !  " 

Dr.  Goodenough  only  gave  a  humph  and  contracted  his 
great  eyebrows. 

^ly  uncle  continued — 

"I  know  what  you  mean.  Firmin  is  a  gentlemanly  man 
—  a  handsome  man.  I  remember  his  father,  Brand  Firmin, 
at  Valenciennes  with  the  Dook  of  York  —  one  of  the  hand- 
somest men  in  Europe.  Firebrand  Firmin  they  used  to  call 
him  —  a  red-headed  fellow  —  a  tremendous  duellist :  sliot  an 
Irishman  —  became  serious  in  after  life,  and  that  sort  of 

VOL.    I.  —8 


114  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

thing  —  quarrelled  with  his  son,  who  Avas  doosid  wild  in 
early  days.  Gentlemanly  man,  certainly,  Firmin.  Black 
hair:  his  father  had  red.  So  much  the  better  for  the 
doctor ;  but  —  but  —  we  understand  each  other,  I  think, 
Goodenough  ?  and  you  and  I  have  seen  some  queer  hshes 
in  our  time.^^ 

And  "the  old  gentleman  winked  and  took  his  snuff  gra- 
ciously, and,  as  it  were,  j)uffed  the  Firmin  subject  away. 

'•'  Was  it  to  show  me  a  queer  fish  that  you  took  me  to  Dr. 
Firmin's  house  in  Parr  Street  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Pendennis  of  his 
uncle.  "  The  house  was  not  very  gay,  nor  the  mistress  very 
wise,  but  they  were  all  as  kind  as  might  be ;  and  I  am  very 
fond  of  the  boy.'' 

"  So  did  Lord  Eingwood,  his  mother's  uncle,  like  him," 
cried  Major  Pendennis.  ''That  boy  brought  about  a  recon- 
ciliation between  his  mother  and  his  uncle,  after  her  run- 
away match.  I  suppose  you  know  she  ran  away  with 
Firmin,  my  dear  ?  " 

My  mother  said  "she  had  heard  something  of  the  story." 
And  the  Major  once  more  asserted  that  Dr.  Firmin  was  a 
wild  fellow  twenty  years  ago.  At  the  time  of  which  I  am 
writing  he  was  Physician  to  the  Plethoric  Hospital,  Phy- 
sician to  the  Grand  Duke  of  Groningen,  and  knight  of  his 
order  of  the  Black  Swan,  membar  of  many  learned  socie- 
ties, the  husband  of  a  rich  wife,  and  a  person  of  no  small 
consideration. 

As  for  his  son,  whose  name  figures  at  the  head  of  these 
pages,  you  may  suppose  he  did  not  die  of  the  illness  about 
which  we  had  just  been  talking.  A  good  nurse  waited  on 
him,  though  his  mamma  was  in  the  country.  Though  his 
papa  was  absent,  a  very  competent  physician  was  found  to 
take  charge  of  the  young  patient,  and  preserve  his  life  for 
the  benefit  of  his  family,  and  the  purposes  of  this 
history. 

We  pursued  our  talk  about  Philip  Firmin  and  his  father, 
and  his  grand-uncle  the  Earl,  whom  Major  Pendennis  knew 
intimately  well,  until  Doctor  Goodenough's  carriage  was  an- 
nounced, and  our  kind  physician  took  leave  of  us,  and  drove 
back  to  London.  Some  who  spoke  on  that  summer  evening 
are  no  longer  here  to  speak  or  listen.  Some  who  were  young 
then .  have  topped  the  hill  and  are  descending  towards  the 
valley  of  the  shadows.  "Ah,"  says  old  Major  Pendennis, 
shaking  his  brown  curls,  as  the  Doctor  went  away ;  "  did 
you  see,  my  good  soul,  when  I  spoke  about  his  confrere,  how 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        115 

glum  Goodenougli  looked  ?  They  don't  love  each  other,  my 
dear.  Two  of  a  trade  don't  agree,  and  besides  I  have  no 
doubt  the  other  doctor-fellows  are  jealous  of  Firmin,  because 
he  lives  in  the  best  society.  A  man  of  good  family,  my  dear. 
There  has  already  been  a  great  raj^pyochement ;  and  if  Lord 
Kingwood  is  quite  reconciled  to  him,  there's  no  knowing 
what  luck  that  boy  of  Firmin's  may  come  to." 

Although  Dr.  Goodenougli  might  think  but  lightly  of  his 
confrere,  a  great  portion  of  the  public  held  him  in  much 
higher  estimation :  and  especially  in  the  little  community 
of  Grey  Friars,  of  which  the  kind  reader  has  heard  in  pre- 
vious works  of  the  present  biographer,  Dr.  Brand  Firmin 
was  a  ver}^  great  favorite,  and  received  with  much  respect 
and  honor.  Whenever  the  boys  at  that  school  were  afflicted 
with  the  common  ailments  of  youth,  Mr.  Spratt,  the  school 
apothecary,  provided  for  them :  and  by  the  simple  though 
disgusting  remedies  which  were  in  use  in  those  times,  gen- 
erally succeeded  in  restoring  his  young  patients  to  health. 
But  if  young  Lord  Egham  (the  Marquis  of  Ascot's  son,  as 
my  respected  reader  very  likely  knows)  happened  to  be  un- 
well, as  was  frequentl}'  the  case,  from  his  lordship's  great 
command  of  pocket-money  and  imprudent  fondness  for  the 
contents  of  the  pastry-cook's  shop ;  or  if  any  very  grave 
case  of  illness  occurred  in  the  school,  then,  quick,  the  famous 
Dr.  Firmiu,  of  old  Parr  Street,  Burlington  Gardens,  was 
sent  for ;  and  an  illness  must  have  been  very  severe,  if  he 
could  not  cure  it.  Dr.  Firmin  had  been  a  school-fellow,  and 
remained  a  special  friend,  of  the  head-master.  When  young 
Lord  Egham,  before  mentioned  (he  was  our  only  lord,  and 
therefore  we  were  a  little  proud  and  careful  of  our  darling 
youth),  got  the  erysijoelas,  which  swelled  his  head  to  the 
size  of  a  pumpkin,  the  doctor  triumphantly  carried  him 
through  his  illness,  and  was  complimented  by  the  head-boy 
in  his  Latin  oration  on  the  annual  speech-day  for  his  super- 
human skill  and  godlike  delight  salutem  homlnihus  dando. 
The  head-master  turned  towards  Dr.  Firmin,  and  bowed: 
the  governers  and  bigwigs  buzzed  to  one  another,  and  looked 
at  him :  the  boys  looked  at  him :  the  physician  held  his 
handsome  head  down  toAvards  his  shirt-frill.  His  modest 
eyes  would  not  look  up  from  the  spotless  lining  of  the  broad- 
brimmed  hat  on  his  knees.  A  murmur  of  applause  hummed 
through  the  ancient  hall,  a  scuffling  of  young  feet,  a  rust- 
ling of  new  cassocks  among  the  masters,  and  a  refreshing 


116  rilE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

blowing  of  noses  ensued,  as  the  orator  polished  off  his 
period,  and  then  passed  to  some  other  theme. 

Amidst  the  general  enthusiasm,  there  was  one  member  of 
the  auditory  scornful  and  dissentient.  This  gentleman 
whispered  to  his  comrade  at  the  commencement  of  the 
phrase  concerning  the  doctor  the  (I  believe  of  Eastern  der- 
ivation) monosyllable  "Bosh!"  and  he  added  sadly,  look- 
ing towards  the  object  of  all  this  praise,  ''  He  can't  construe 
the  Latin  —  though  it  is  alia  parcel  of  humbug." 

'*'  Hush,  Phil ! "  said  his  friend  ;  and  Phil's  face  flushed 
red,  as  Dr.  Pirmin,  lifting  up  his  eyes,  looked  at  him  for 
one  moment;  for  the  recipient  of  all  this  laudation  was  no 
other  than  Phil's  father. 

The  illness  of  which  we  spoke  had  long  since  passed 
away.  Philip  was  a  school-boy  no  longer,  but  in  his  second 
year  at  the  university,  and  one  of  half  a  dozen  young  men, 
ex-pupils  of  the  school,  who  had  come  up  for  the  annual 
dinner.  The  honors  of  this  year's  dinner  were  for  Dr. 
Pirmin,  even  more  than  for  Lord  Ascot  in  his  star  and 
ribbon,  who  walked  with  his  arm  in  the  doctor's  into  chapel. 
His  lordship  faltered  Avhen,  in  his  after-dinner  speech,  he 
alluded  to  the  inestimable  services  and  skill  of  his  tried  old 
friend,  whom  he  had  known  as  a  fellow-pupil  in  those  walls 
—  (loud  cheers)  — w^hose  friendship  had  been  the  delight  of 
his  life  —  a  friendship  which  he  prayed  might  be  the  inher- 
itance of  their  children.  (Immense  applause ;  after  which 
Dr.  Pirmin  spoke.) 

The  doctor's  speech  was  perhaps  a  little  commonplace; 
the  Latin  quotations  which  he  used  were  not  exactly  novel ; 
but  Phil  need  not  have  been  so  angry  or  ill-behaved.  He 
went  on  sipping  sherry,  glaring  at  his  father,  and  mutter- 
ing observations  that  were  anything  but  complimentary  to 
his  parent.  "  Now  look,"  says  he,  "  he  is  going  to  be  over- 
come by  his  feelings.  He  will  put  his  handkerchief  up  to 
his  mouth,  and  show  his  diamond  ring.  I  told  you  so ! 
It's  too  much.  I  can't  swallow  this  .  .  .  this  sherry.  I 
say,  you  fellows,  let  us  come  out  of  this,  and  have  a  smoke 
somewhere."  And  Phil  rose  up  and  quitted  the  dining- 
room,  just  as  his  father  was  declaring  Avhat  a  joy,  and  a 
pride,  and  a  delight  it  was  to  him  to  think  that  the  friend- 
ship with  w^hich  his  noble  friend  honored  him  was  likely  to 
be  transmitted  to  their  children,  and  that  wiien  he  had 
passed  away  from  this  earthly  scene  (cries  of  "  No,  no  ! " 
"May  you  live  a  thousand  years  !  ")  it  would  be  his  joy  to 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        117 

think  that  his  son  wonki  always  find  a  friend  and  protector 
in  the  noble,  the  princely  house  of  Ascot. 

We  found  the  carriages  waiting  outside  Grey  Friar's 
Gate,  and  Philip  Firmin,  pushing  me  into  his  father's,  told 
the  footman  to  drive  home,  and  that  the  doctor  would 
return  in  Lord  Ascot's  carriage.  Home  then  to  Old  Pai-r 
Street  we  went,  where  many  a  time  as  a  boy  I  had  been 
welcome.  And  we  retired  to  Phil's  private  den  in  the  back 
buildings  of  the  great  house :  and  over  our  cigars  we  talked 
of  the  Founder's-day  Feast,  and  the  speeches  delivered ;  and 
of  the  old  Cistercians  of  our  time,  and  how  Thompson  was 
married,  and  Johnson  was  in  the  army,  and  Jackson  (not 
red-haired  Jackson,  pig-eyed  Jackson)  was  first  in  his  year, 
and  so  forth;  and  in  this  twaddle  were  most  happily  en- 
gaged, when  Phil's  father  flung  open  the  tall  door  of  the 
study. 

"  Here's  the  governor  !  "  growled  Phil ;  and  in  an  under- 
tone, "  What  does  he  want  ?  " 

"  The  governor,"  as  I  looked  up,  was  not  a  pleasant  object 
to  behold.  Dr.  Firmin"  had  very  white  false  teeth,  which  per- 
haps were  a  little  too  large  for  his  mouth,  and  these  grinned 
in  the  gas-light  very  fiercel}^  On  his  cheeks  were  black 
whiskers,  and  over  his  glaring  eyes  fierce  black  eyebrows, 
and  his  bald  head  glittered  like  a  billiard-ball.  You  would 
hardly  have  known  that  he  was  the  original  of  that  melan- 
choly philosophic  portrait  which  all  the  patients  admired 
in  the  doctor's  waiting-room. 

"I  find,  Philip,  that  you  took  my  carriage,"  said  the 
father  ;  "  and  Lord  Ascot  and  I  had  to  walk  ever  so  far  for  a 
cab ! " 

"  Hadn't  he  got  his  own  carriage  ?  I  thought,  of  course, 
he  would  have  his  carriage  on  a  State-day,  and  that  you 
would  come  home  with  the  lord,"  said  Philip. 

"I  had  promised  to  bring  hi)?ih.om.e,  sir  !  "  said  the  father. 

"Well,  sir,  I'm  very  sorry,"  continued  the  son,  curtly. 

*'  Sorry  ! "  screams  the  other. 

"I  can't  say  any  more,  sir,  and  I  am  very  sorry,"  answers 
Phil ;  and  he  knocked  the  ash  of  his  cigar  into  the  stove. 

The  stranger  within  the  house  hardly  knew  how  to  look 
on  its  master  or  his  son.  There  was  evidently  some  dire 
quarrel  between  them.  The  old  man  glared  at  the  young 
one,  who  calmly  looked  his  father  in  the  face.  Wicked  rage 
and  hate  seemed  to  flash  from  the  doctor's  eves,  and  anon 
came  a  look  of  wild  pitiful  supplication  towards  the  guest, 


118  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

which  was  most  painful  to  bear.  In  the  midst  of  what 
dark  family  mystery  was  I  ?  What  meant  this  cruel  spec- 
tacle of  the  father^s  terrified  auger  and  the  son's  scorn  ? 

"I  —  I  appeal  to  you,  Pendennis,"  says  the  doctor,  with 
a  choking  utterance  and  a  ghastly  face. 

"  Shall  we  begin  ab  ovo,  sir  ? "  says  Phil.  Again  the 
ghastly  look  of  terror  comes  over  the  father's  face. 

^'I — I  promise  to  bring  one  of  the  first  noblemen  in 
England,"  gasps  the  doctor,  "  from  a  public  dinner,  in  my 
carriage ;  and  my  son  takes  it,  and  leaves  me  and  Lord 
Ascot  to  Avalk  !  —  Is  it  fair,  Pendennis  ?  Is  it  the  conduct 
of  a  gentleman  to  a  gentleman  ;  of  a  son  to  a  father  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  I  said  gravely,  "  nothing  can  excuse  it."  In- 
deed I  was  shocked  at  the  young  man's  obduracy  and  un- 
dutifulness. 

'^  I  told  you  it  was  a  mistake  ! "  cries  Phil  reddening.  "  I 
heard  Lord  Ascot  order  his  own  carriage  ;  I  made  no  doubt 
he  would  bring  my  father  home.  To  ride  in  a  chariot  with 
a  footman  behind  me,  is  no  pleasure  to  me,  and  I  would  far 
rather  have  a  Hansom  and  a  cigar.  It  was  a  blunder,  and 
I  am  sorry  for  it  —  there  !  And  if  I  live  to  a  hundred  I 
can't  say  more." 

"  If  you  are  sorry,  Philip,"  groans  the  father,  "  it  is 
enough.  You  remember,  Pendennis,  when  —  when  my  son 
and  I  were  not  on  this  —  on  this  footing,"  and  he  looked 
up  for  a  moment  at  a  picture  which  was  hanging  over  Phil's 
head  —  a  portrait  of  Phil's  mother ;  the  lady  of  whom  my 
own  mother  spoke,  on  that  evening  when  we  had  talked  of 
the  boy's  illness.  Both  the  ladies  had  passed  from  the 
world  now,  and  their  images  were  but  painted  shadows  on 
the  wall. 

The  father  had  accepted  an  apology,  though  the  son  had 
made  none.  I  looked  at  the  elder  Pirmin's  face,  and  the 
character  written  on  it.  I  remembered  such  particulars  of 
liis  early  history  as  had  been  told  to  me  ;  and  I  perfectly 
recalled  that  feeling  of  doubt  and  misliking  which  came 
over  my  mind  when  I  first  saw  the  doctor's  handsome  face 
some  few  years  previously,  when  my  uncle  first  took  me  to 
the  doctor's  in  Old  Parr  Street;  little  Phil  being  then  a 
flaxen-headed,  pretty  child,  Avho  had  just  assumed  his  first 
trousers,  and  I  a  fifth-form  boy  at  school. 

My  father  and  Dr.  Firmin  were  members  of  the  medical 
profession.  They  liad  been  bred  up  as  boys  at  the  same 
school,  whither  families  used  to  send  their  sons  from  gen- 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH 

eration  to  generation,  and  long  befol 
learned  that  the  })lace  was  unwholesome! 
smoky,  certainly  ;  1  think  in  the  time  oi 
numbers  of  people  were  buried  there, 
been  situated  in  the  most  picturesque  swamp^ 
the  general  health  of  the  boys  could  not  have  been'  better.^ 
We  boys  used  to  hear  of  epidemics  occurring  in  other  schools, 
and  were  almost  sorry  that  they  did  not  come  to  ours,  so 
that  we  might  shut  up,  and  get  longer  vacations.  Even 
that  illness  which  subsequently  befell  Vhil  Firmin  himself 
attacked  no  one  else — the  boj's  all  luckily  going  home  for 
the  holidays  on  the  very  day  of  poor  Phil's  seizure ;  but  of 
this  illness  more  anon.  When  it  was  determined  that  little 
Phil  Firmin  was  to  go  to  Grey  Friars,  Phil's  father  be- 
thought him  that  Major  Pendennis,  whom  he  met  in  the 
world  and  society,  had  a  nephew  at  the  place,  who  might 
protect  the  little  fellow,  and  the  JMajor  took  his  nephew  to 
see  Dr.  and  j\Irs.  Firmin  one  Sunday  after  church,  and  we 
had  lunch  at  Old  Parr  Street,  and  there  little  Phil  was  pre- 
sented to  me,  whom  I  promised  to  take  under  my  protec- 
tion. He  was  a  simple  little  man ;  an  artless  child,  who 
had  not  the  least  idea  of  the  dignity  of  a  fifth-form  boy. 
He  was  quite  unabashed  in  talking  to  me  and  other  persons, 
and  has  remained  so  ever  since.  He  asked  my  uncle  how 
he  came  to  have  such  odd  hair.  He  partook  freely  of  the 
delicacies  on  the  table.  I  remember  he  hit  me  with  his 
little  fist  once  or  twice,  which  liberty  at  first  struck  me 
with  a  panic  of  astonishment,  and  then  with  a  sense  of  the 
ridiculous  so  exquisitely  keen,  that  I  burst  out  into  a  fit  of 
laughter.  It  was,  you  see,  as  if  a  stranger  were  to  hit  the 
Pope  in  the  ribs,  and  call  him  '•'  Old  boy  "' ;  as  if  Jack  were 
to  tweak  one  of  the  giants  by  the  nose ;  or  Ensign  Jones  to 
ask  the  Duke  of  Wellington  to  take  wine.  I  had  a  strong 
sense  of  humor,  even  in  those  early  days,  and  enjoyed  this 
joke  accordingly. 

"Philip!"  cries  mamma,  "you  will  hurt  Mr.  Pendennis." 

"I  will  knock  him  down!"  shouts  Phil.  Fancy  knock- 
ing we  down,  —  me,  a  fifth-form  boy  ! 

"  The  child  is  a  perfect  Hercules,"  remarks  the  mother. 

"He  strangled  two  snakes  in  his  cradle,"  says  the  doc- 
tor, looking  at  me.  (It  was  then,  as  I  remember,  I  felt 
Dr.  Fell  towards  him.) 

"  La,  Dr.  Firmin  ! "  cries  mamma,  "  I  can't  bear  snakes. 
I  remember  there  was  one  at  Pome,  when  we  were  walking 


120  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

one  day,  a  great,  large  snake,  and  I  hated  it,  and  I  cried 
out,  and  I  nearly  feinted ;  and  my  uncle  liingwood  said  I 
ought  to  like  snakes,  for  one  might  be  an  agreeable  rattle ; 
and  I  have  read  of  them  being  charming  in  India,  and  I 
dare  say  3*ou  have,  Mr.  Pendennis,  for  I  am  told  you  are 
very  clever ;  and  I  am  not  in  the  least ;  I  Avish  I  were ;  but 
my  husband  is,  very — and  so  Phil  will  be.  Will  you  be 
a  very  clever  boy,  dear  ?  He  was  named  after  my  dear 
papa,  who  was  killed  at  Busaco  when  I  was  quite,  quite  a 
little  thing,  and  we  wore  mourning,  and  we  went  to  live 
with  my  uncle  Ringwood  afterwards  ;  but  Maria  and  I  had 
both  our  own  fortunes ;  and  I  am  sure  I  little  thought  I 
should  marry  a  physician  —  la,  one  of  uncle  Kingwood's 
grooms,  I  should  as  soon  have  thought  of  marrying  him  !  — 
but  you  know,  my  husband  is  one  of  the  cleverest  men  in 
the  world.  Don't  tell  me,  —  you  are,  dearest,  and  you  know 
it ;  and  when  a  man  is  clever,  I  don't  value  his  rank  in 
life ;  no,  not  if  he  was  that  fender ;  and  I  always  said  to 
uncle  Eingwood,  ^  Talent  I  will  marry,  for  talent  I  adore ' ; 
and  I  did  marry  you.  Dr.  Pirmin,  you  know  I  did,  and  this 
child  is  your  image.  And  you  will  be  kind  to  him  at 
school,"  says  the  poor  lady,  turning  to  me,  her  eyes  hlling 
with  tears,  "  for  talent  is  always  kind,  except  uncle  Ring- 
wood,  and  he  was  very  —  " 

"A  little  more  wine,  Mr.  Pendennis?"  said  the  doctor 
—  Dr.  Fell  still,  though  he  was  most  kind  to  me.  "  I  shall 
put  my  little  man  under  your  care,  and  I  know  you  will 
keep  him  from  harm.  I  hope  you  will  do  us  the  favor  to 
come  to  Parr  Street  whenever  you  are  free.  In  my  father's 
time  we  used  to  come  home  of  a  Saturday  from  school, 
and  enjoyed  going  to  the  play."  And  the  doctor  shook  me 
cordially  by  the  hand,  and,  I  must  say,  continued  his  kind- 
ness to  me  as  long  as  ever  I  knew  him.  When  we  went 
away,  my  uncle  Pendennis  told  me  many  stories  about  the 
great  earl  and  family  of  Eingwood,  and  how  Dr.  Firmin 
had  made  a  match  —  a  match  of  the  affections — with  this 
lady,  daughter  of  Philip  Eingwood,  who  was  killed  at 
Busaco ;  and  how  she  had  been  a  great  beauty,  and  was  a 
perfect  grande  dame  always ;  and,  if  not  the  cleverest,  cer- 
tainly one  of  the  kindest  and  most  amiable  women  in  the 
world. 

In  those  days  I  was  accustomed  to  receive  the  opinions 
of  my  informant  with  such  respect  that  I  at  once  accepted 
this   statement  as  authentic.     Mrs.   Firmin's  portrait,  in- 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        121 

deed,  was  beautiful :  it  was  painted  by  young  Mr.  Harlowe, 
that  year  he. was  at  Rome,  and  when  in  eighteen  days  he 
completed  a  copy  of  the  "  Transfiguration,"  to  the  admira- 
tion of  all  the  Academy ;  but  I,  for  my  part,  only  remem- 
ber a  lady,  weak,  and  thin,  and  faded,  who  never  came  out 
of  her  dressing-room  until  a  late  hour  in  the  afternoon,  and 
whose  superannuated  smiles  and  grimaces  used  to  provoke 
my  juvenile  sense  of  humor.  She  used  to  kiss  Phil's  brow ; 
and,  as  she  held  the  boy's  hand  in  one  of  her  lean  ones, 
would  say,  "  Who  would  suppose  such  a  great  boy  as  that 
could  be  my  son  ?  "  "  Be  kind  to  him  when  I  am  gone," 
she  sighed  to  me,  one  Sunday  evening,  when  I  was  taking 
leave  of  her,  as  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  placed 
the  thin  hand  in  mine  for  the  last  time.  The  doctor,  read- 
ing by  the  fire,  turned  round  and  scowled  at  her  from 
under  his  tall,  shining  forehead.  "You  are  nervous, 
Louisa,  and  had  better  go  to  your  room,  I  told  you  you 
had,"  he  said  abruptly.  "  Young  gentlemen,  it  is  time  for 
you  to  be  off  to  Grey  Friars.  Is  the  cab  at  the  door, 
Brice?"  And  he  took  out  his  watch  —  his  great  shining 
watch,  by  which  he  had  felt  the  pulses  of  so  many  famous 
personages,  whom  his  prodigious  skill  had  rescued  from 
disease.  And  at  parting,  Phil  flung  his  arms  round  his 
poor  mother,  and  kissed  her  under  the  glossy  curls;  the 
borrowed  curls  !  and  he  looked  his  father  resolutely  in  the 
face  (whose  own  glance  used  to  fall  before  that  of  the  boy), 
and  bade  him  a  gruff  good-night,  ere  we  set  forth  for  Grey 
Friars. 


CHAPTER   II. 


AT    SCHOOL    AND    AT    HOME. 


DINED  yesterday 
with  three  gentle- 
men, whose  time 
of  life  may  be 
guessed  by  their 
conversation,  a 
great  part  of  which 
consisted  of  Eton 
reminiscences  and 
lively  imitations  of 
Dr.  Keate.  Each 
one,  as  he  describ- 
ed how  he  had 
been  flogged,  mim- 
icked to  the  best 
of  his  power  the 
manner  and  the 
mode  of  operating 
of  the  famous  doc- 
tor. His  little  pa- 
renthetical  re- 
marks during  the  ceremony  were  recalled  with  great  face- 
tiousness :  the  very  hwliish  of  the  rods  was  parodied  with 
thrilling  fidelity,  and  after  a  good  hour's  conversation, 
the  subject  was  brought  to  a  climax  by  a  description  of 
that  awful  night  when  the  doctor  called  up  squad  after 
squad  of  boys  from  their  beds  in  their  respective  boarding- 
houses,  whipped  through  the  whole  night,  and  castigated  I 
don't  know  how  many  hundred  rebels.  All  these  mature 
men  laughed,  prattled,  rejoiced,  and  became  young  again, 
as  they  recounted  their  stories  ;  and  each  of  them  heartily 
and  eagerly  bade  the  stranger  to  understand  how  Keate 
was  a  thorough  gentleman.  Having  talked  about  their 
floggings,  I  say,  for  an  hour  at  least,  they  apologized  to  me 

122 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP,  123 

for  dwelling  upon  a  subject  which  after  all  was  strictly 
local :  but,  indeed,  their  talk  greatly  amused  and  diverted 
me,  and  I  hope,  and  am  quite  ready,  to  hear  all  their  jolly 
stories  over  again. 

Be  not  angry,  patient  reader  of  former  volumes  by  the 
author  of  tlie  present  history,  if  I  am  garrulous  about  Grey 
Priars,  and  go  back  to  that  ancient  place  of  education  to  find 
the  heroes  of  our  tale.  AVe  are  3'oung  but  once.  When  we 
remember  that  time  of  youth,  we  are  still  young.  He  over 
whose  head  eight  or  nine  lustres  have  passed,  if  he  wishes 
to  write  of  boys,  must  recall  the  time  when  he  himself  was 
a  boy.  Their  habits  change ;  their  waists  are  longer  or 
shorter ;  their  shirt-collars  stick  up  more  or  less ;  but  the 
boy  is  the  boy  in  King  George's  time  as  in  that  of  his  royal 
niece  —  once  our  maiden  queen,  now  the  anxious  mother  of 
many  boys.  And  young  fellows  are  honest,  and  merry,  and 
idle,  and  mischievous,  and  timid,  and  brave,  and  studious, 
and  selfish,  and  generous,  and  mean,  and  false,  and  truth- 
telling,  and  affectionate,  and  good,  and  bad,  now  as  in 
former  daj'S.  He  with  wliom  we  have  mainly  to  do  is  a 
gentleman  of  mature  age  now  walking  the  street  with  boys 
of  his  own.  He  is  not  going  to  perish  in  the  last  chapter 
of  these  memoirs  —  to  die  of  consumption  with  his  love 
weeping  by  his  bedside,  or  to  blow  his  brains  out  in  despair, 
because  she  has  been  married  to  his  rival,  or  killed  out  of  a 
gig,  or  otherwise  done  for  in  the  last  chapter  but  one.  No, 
no,  we  Avill  have  no  dismal  endings.  Philip  Pirmin  is  well 
and  hearty  at  this  minute,  owes  no  man  a  shilling,  and  can 
enjoy  his  glass  of  port  in  perfect  comfort.  So,  my  dear 
miss,  if  you  want  a  pulmonary  romance,  the  present  won't 
suit  you.  So,  young  gentleman,  if  you  are  for  melancholy, 
despair,  and  sardonic  satire,  please  to  call  at  some  other 
shop.  That  Philip  shall  have  his  trials  is  a  matter  of  course 
—  may  they  be  interesting,  though  they  do  not  end  dis- 
mally !  That  he  shall  fall  and  trip  in  his  course  sometimes 
is  pretty  certain.  Ah,  who  does  not  upon  this  life-journey 
of  ours  ?  Is  not  our  want  the  occasion  of  our  brother's 
charity,  and  thus  does  not  good  come  out  of  that  evil  ? 
When  the  traveller  (of  whom  the  Master  spoke)  fell  among 
the  thieves,  his  mishap  was  contrived  to  try  many  a  heart 
beside  his  own  —  the  Knave's  who  robbed  him,  the  Levite's 
and  Priest's  who  passed  him  by  as  he  lay  bleeding,  the  hum- 
ble Samaritan's  whose  hand  poured  oil  into  his  wound,  and 
held  out  its  pittance  to  relieve  him. 


CHAPTER   II. 


AT    SCHOOL    AND    AT    HOME. 


DINED  yesterday 
with  three  gentle- 
men, whose  time 
of  life  may  be 
guessed  by  their 
conversation,  a 
great  part  of  Avhich 
consisted  of  Eton 
reminiscences  and 
lively  imitations  of 
Dr.  Keate.  Each 
j  one,  as  he  describ- 
ed how  he  had 
been  flogged,  mim- 
icked to  the  best 
of  his  power  the 
manner  and  the 
mode  of  operating 
of  the  famous  doc- 
tor. His  little  pa- 
renthetical  re- 
marks during  the  ceremony  were  recalled  with  great  face- 
tiousness :  the  very  luchish  of  the  rods  was  parodied  with 
thrilling  fidelity,  and  after  a  good  hour's  conversation, 
the  subject  was  brought  to  a  climax  by  a  description  of 
that  awful  night  when  the  doctor  called  up  squad  after 
squad  of  boys  from  their  beds  in  their  respective  boarding- 
houses,  whipped  through  the  whole  night,  and  castigated  I 
don't  know  how  many  hundred  rebels.  All  these  mature 
men  laughed,  prattled,  rejoiced,  and  became  j^oung  again, 
as  they  recounted  their  stories  ;  and  each  of  them  heartily 
and  eagerly  bade  the  stranger  to  understand  how  Keate 
was  a  thorough  gentleman.  Having  talked  about  their 
floggings,  I  say,  for  an  hour  at  least,  they  apologized  to  me 

122 


THE  ADVEyrURES   OF  PHILIP,  j23 

for  dwelling  upon  a  subject  which  after  all  was  strictly 
local :  butj  indeed,  their  talk  greatly  amused  and  diverted 
me,  and  I  hope,  and  am  quite  ready,  to  hear  all  their  jolly 
stories  over  again, 

1)6  not  angr}',  patient  reader  of  former  volumes  by  the 
author  of  the  present  history,  if  I  am  garrulous  about  Grey 
Friars,  and  go  back  to  that  ancient  place  of  education  to  find 
the  heroes  of  our  tale.  AVe  are  young  but  once.  When  we 
remember  tlmt  time  of  3'outh,  we  are  still  young.  He  over 
whose  head  eight  or  nine  lustres  have  passed,  if  he  wishes 
to  write  of  boys,  must  recall  the  time  when  he  himself  was 
a  boy.  Their  habits  change ;  their  waists  are  longer  or 
shorter ;  their  shirt-collars  stick  up  more  or  less ;  but  the 
boy  is  the  boy  in  King  George's  time  as  in  that  of  his  royal 
niece  —  once  our  maiden  queen,  now  the  anxious  mother  of 
many  boys.  And  young  fellows  are  honest,  and  merry,  and 
idle,  and  mischievous,  and  timid,  and  brave,  and  studious, 
and  selfish,  and  generous,  and  mean,  and  false,  and  truth- 
telling,  and  affectionate,  and  good,  and  bad,  now  as  in 
former  days.  He  with  whom  we  have  mainly  to  do  is  a 
gentleman  of  mature  age  now  walking  the  street  with  boys 
of  his  own.  He  is  not  going  to  perish  in  the  last  chapter 
of  these  memoirs  —  to  die  of  consumption  with  his  love 
weeping  by  his  be<lside,  or  to  blow  his  brains  out  in  despair, 
because  she  has  been  married  to  his  rival,  or  killed  out  of  a 
gig,  or  otherwise  done  for  in  the  last  chapter  but  one.  No, 
no,  we  will  have  no  dismal  endings.  Philip  Firmin  is  well 
and  hearty  at  this  minute,  owes  no  man  a  shilling,  and  can 
enjoy  his  glass  of  port  in  perfect  comfort.  So,  my  dear 
miss,  if  you  want  a  pulmonary  romance,  the  present  won't 
suit  3'ou.  So,  young  gentleman,  if  you  are  for  melancholy, 
despair,  and  sardonic  satire,  please  to  call  at  some  other 
shop.  That  Philip  shall  have  his  trials  is  a  matter  of  course 
—  may  they  be  interesting,  though  they  do  not  end  dis- 
mall}^ !  That  he  shall  fall  and  trip  in  his  course  sometimes 
is  pretty  certain.  Ah,  who  does  not  upon  this  life-journey 
of  ours  ?  Is  not  our  want  the  occasion  of  our  brotlier's 
cliarity,  and  thus  does  not  good  come  out  of  that  evil  ? 
When  the  traveller  (of  whom  the  Master  spoke)  fell  among 
the  thieves,  his  mishap  was  contrived  to  try  many  a  heart 
beside  his  own  —  the  Knave's  who  robbed  him,  the  Levite's 
and  Priest's  who  passed  him  by  as  he  lay  bleeding,  the  hum- 
ble Samaritan's  whose  hand  poured  oil  into  his  wound,  and 
held  out  its  pittance  to  relieve  him. 


124  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

So  little  Philip  Firmin  was  brought  to  school  by  his 
mamma  in  her  carriage,  who  entreated  tlie  housekeeper  to 
have  a  special  charge  of  that  angelic  child ;  and  as  soon  as 
the  poor  lady's  back  was  turned,  Mrs.  Bunce  emptied  the 
contents  of  the  little  boy's  trunk  into  one  of  sixty  or  seventy 
little  cupboards,  wherein  reposed  other  boys'  clothes  and 
haberdashery :  and  then  Mrs.  Firm  in  requested  to  see  the 
Eev.  Mr.  X.,  in  whose  house  Philip  was  to  board,  and  be- 
sought him,  and  explained  many  things  to  him,  such  as  the 
exceeding  delicacy  of  the  child's  constitution,  &c.,  «&c. ;  and 
Mr.  X.,  who  was  very  good-natured,  patted  the  boy  kindly 
on  the  head,  and  sent  for  the  other  Philip,  Philip  Ring- 
wood,  Phil's  cousin,  who  had  arrived  at  Grey  Priars  an  hour 
or  two  before ;  and  Mr.  X.  told  Ringwood  to  take  care  of  the 
little  fellow ;  and  Mrs.  Firmin,  choking  behind  her  pocket- 
handkerchief,  gurgled  out  a  blessing  on  the  grinning  youth, 
and  at  one  time  had  an  idea  of  giving  Master  Ringwood  a 
sovereign,  but  paused,  thinking  he  was  too  big  a  boy,  and 
that  she  might  not  take  such  a  liberty,  and  presently  she 
was  gone;  and  little  Phil  Firmin  was  introduced  to  the  long- 
room  and  his  school-fellows  of  Mr.  X.'s  house ;  and  having 
plenty  of  money,  and  naturally  finding  his  way  to  the  j^as- 
try-cook's,  the  next  day,  after  school,  he  was  met  by  his 
cousin  Ringwood  and  robbed  of  half  the  tarts  which  he  had 
purchased.  A  fortnight  afterwards,  the  hospitable  doctor 
and  his  wife  asked  their  young  kinsman  to  Old  Parr  Street, 
Burlington  Gardens,  and  the  two  boys  went ;  but  Phil  never 
mentioned  anything  to  his  parents  regarding  the  robbery  of 
tarts,  being  deterred,  perhaps,  from  speaking  by  awful 
threats  of  punishment  which  his  cousin  promised  to  admin- 
ister when  they  got  back  to  school,  in  case  of  the  little  boy's 
confession.  Subsequently,  Master  Ringwood  was  asked 
once  in  every  term  to  Old  Parr  Street ;  but  neither  Mrs. 
Firmin,  nor  the  doctor,  nor  Master  Firmin  liked  the  baro- 
net's son,  and  Mrs.  Firmin  pronounced  him  a  violent,  rude 
boy. 

I,  for  my  part,  left  school  suddenly  and  early,  and  my 
little  protege  behind  me.  His  poor  mother,  Avho  had  prom- 
ised herself  to  come  for  him  every  Saturday,  did  not  keep 
her  promise.  Smithfield  is  a  long  way  from  Piccadilly;  and 
an  angry  cow  once  scratched  the  panels  of  her  carriage, 
causing  her  footman  to  spring  from  his  board  into  a  pig-pen, 
and  herself  to  feel  such  a  shock,  that  no  wonder  she  was 
afraid  of  visiting  the  City  afterwards.     The  circumstances 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WOBLD.        125 

of  this  accident  she  often  narrated  to  us.  Her  anecdotes 
were  not  nimierous,  but  she  tokl  them  repeatedly.  In 
imagination,  sometimes,  I  can  hear  her  ceaseless,  simple 
cackle  ;  see  her  faint  eyes,  as  she  prattles  on  unconsciously, 
and  watch  the  dark  looks  of  her  handsome,  silent  husband, 
scowling  from  under  his  eyebrows  and  smiling  behind  his 
teeth.  I  dare  say  he  ground  those  teeth  with  suppressed 
rage  sometimes.  I  dare  say  to  bear  with  her  endless 
volubilit}^  must  have  tasked  his  endurance.  He  may  have 
treated  her  ill,  but  she  tried  him.  She,  on  her  part,  may 
have  been  a  not  very  wise  Avoman,  but  she  was  kind  to  me. 
Did  not  her  housekeeper  make  me  the  best  of  tarts  and 
keep  goodies  from  the  company  dinners  for  the  young 
gentlemen  when  they  came  home  ?  Did  not  her  husband 
give  me  of  his  fees  ?  I  promise  you,  after  I  had  seen  Dr. 
Fell  a  few  times,  that  first  unpleasing  impression  produced 
by  his  darkling  countenance  and  sinister  good  looks  wore 
away.  He  was  a  gentleman.  He  had  lived  in  the  great 
world,  of  which  he  told  anecdotes  delightful  to  boys  to  hear ; 
and  he  passed  the  bottle  to  me  as  if  I  was  a  man. 

I  hope  and  think  I  remembered  the  injunction  of  poor 
Mrs.  Firmin  to  be  kind  to  her  boy.  As  long  as  we  stayed 
together  at  Grey  Friars,  I  was  Phil's  champion  whenever 
he  needed  my  protection,  though  of  course  I  could  not 
always  be  present  to  guard  the  little  scrapegrace  from  all 
the  blows  which  were  aimed  at  his  young  face  by  pugilists 
of  his  own  size.  There  were  seven  or  eight  years'  difference 
between  us  (he  says  ten,  which  is  absurd,  and  which  I 
deny) ;  but  I  was  always  remarkable  for  my  affability,  and, 
in  spite  of  our  disparity  of  age,  would  often  graciously 
accept  the  general  invitation  I  had  from  his  father  for  any 
Saturday  and  Sunday  when  I  would  like  to  accompany 
Philip  home. 

Such  an  invitation  is  welcome  to  any  school-boy.  To  get 
away  from  Smithfield,  and  show  our  best  clothes  in  Bond 
Street,  was  always  a  privilege.  To  strut  in  the  Park  on 
Sunday,  and  nod  to  the  other  fellows  who  were  strutting 
there  too,  was  better  than  remaining  at  school,  "doing 
'  Diates  aron,' "  as  the  phrase  used  to  be,  having  that  end- 
less roast-beef  for  dinner,  and  hearing  two  sermons  in 
chapel.  There  may  have  been  more  lively  streets  in 
London  than  Old  Parr  Street ;  but  it  was  pleasanter  to  be 
there  than  to  look  at  Goswell  Street  over  Grey  Friars'  wall ; 
and  so  the  present  biographer  and  reader's  very  humble 


126  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHI  TAP 

servant  found  Dr.  Firmin's  house  an  agreeable  resort. 
Mamma  was  often  ailing,  or,  if  well,  went  out  into  the 
world  with  her  husband ;  in  either  case,  we  boys  had  a 
good  dinner  provided  for  us,  with  the  special  dishes  which 
Phil  loved ;  and  after  dinner  we  adjourned  to  the  play,  not 
being  by  any  means  too  proud  to  sit  in  the  pit  with  Mr. 
Brice,  the  do;;tor's  confidential  man.  On  Sunday  we  went 
to  church  at  Lady  Whittlesea's,  and  back  to  school  in  the 
evening;  when  the  doctor  almost  always  gave  us  a  fee.  If 
he  did  not  dine  at  home  (and  I  own  his  absence  did  not 
much  damp  our  pleasure),  Brice  would  lay  a  small  enclosure 
on  the  young  gentlemen's  coats,  which  we  transferred  to 
OLir  pockets.  I  believe  school-boys  disdain  fees  at  the 
present  disinterested  times. 

Everything  in  Dr.  Firmin's  house  was  as  handsome  as 
might  be,  and  yet  somehow  the  place  was  not  cheerful. 
One's  steps  fell  noiselessly  on  the  faded  Turkey  carpet ;  the 
room  was  large,  and  all  save  the  dining-table  in  a  dingy 
twilight.  The  picture  of  Mrs.  Firmin  looked  at  us  from 
the  wall,  and  followed  us  about  with  wild  violet  eyes. 
Philip  Firmin  had  the  same  violet  odd  bright  eyes,  and  the 
same  colored  hair  of  an  auburn  tinge ;  in  the  picture  it  fell 
in  long  wild  masses  over  the  lady's  back  as  she  leaned  with 
bare  arms  on  a  harp.  Over  the  sideboard  Avas  the  doctor, 
in  a  black  velvet  coat  and  a  fur  collar,  his  hand  on  a  skull, 
like  Hamlet.  Skulls  of  oxen,  horned,  with  wreaths,  formed 
the  cheerful  ornaments  of  the  cornice.  On  the  side-table 
glittered  a  pair  of  cups,  given  by  grateful  patients,  looking 
like  receptacles  rather  for  funereal  ashes  than  for  festive 
flowers  or  wine.  Brice,  the  butler,  wore  the  gravity  and 
costume  of  an  undertaker.  The  footman  stealthily  moved 
hither  and  thither,  bearing  the  dinner  to  us  ;  we  always 
spoke  under  our  breath  whilst  Ave  were  eating  it.  *'  The 
room  don't  look  more  cheerful  of  a  morning  when  the 
patients  are  sitting  here,  I  can  tell  you,"  Phil  would  say ; 
indeed,  Ave  could  Avell  fancy  that  it  Avas  dismal.  The  draAv- 
ing-room  had  a  rhubarb-colored  flock  paper  (on  account  of 
the  governor's  attachment  to  the  shop,  Master  Phil  said),  a 
great  piano,  a  harp  smothered  in  a  leather  bag  in  the  corner, 
Avhich  the  languid  OAvner  noAV  never  touched ;  and  every- 
body's face  seemed  scared  and  pale  in  the  great  looking- 
glasses,  Avhich  reflected  you  over  and  over  again  into  the 
distance,  so  that  you  seemed  to  tAvinkle  off  right  through 
the  Albany  into  Piccadilly. 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        127 

Old  Parr  Street  lias  been  a  habitation  for  generations  of 
surgeons  and  physicians.  I  supi)ose  the  noblemen  for 
whose  use  the  street  was  intended  in  the  time  of  the  early 
Georges  fled,  finding  the  neighborhood  too  dismal,  and  the 
gentlemen  in  black  coats  came  and  took  possession  of  the 
gilded,  gloomy  chambers  which  the  sacred  viode  vacated. 
These  mutations  of  fashion  have  always  been  matters  of 
profound  speculation  to  me.  Why  shall  not  one  moralize 
over  London,  as  over  Eome,  or  Baalbec,  or  Troy  town  ?  I 
like  to  walk  among  the  Hebrews  of  Wardour  Street,  and 
fancy  the  place,  as  it  once  was,  crowded  with  chairs  and 
gilt  chariots,  and  torches  flashing  in  the  hands  of  the  run- 
ning footmen.  I  have  a  grim  pleasure  in  thinking  that 
Golden  Square  was  once  the  resort  of  the  aristocracy,  and 
^lonmouth  Street  the  deliglit  of  the  genteel  world.  What 
shall  prevent  us  Londoners  from  musing  over  the  decline 
and  fall  of  city  sovereignties,  and  drawing  onr  cockney 
morals  ?  As  the  late  Mr.  Gibbon  meditated  his  history 
leaning  against  a  column  in  the  Capitol,  why  should  not  I 
muse  over  mine,  reclining  under  an  arcade  of  the  Pantheon  ? 
Not  the  Pantheon  at  Rome,  in  the  Cabbage  Market  by  the 
Piazza  Xavona,  Avhere  the  immortal  gods  were  worshipped, 
—  the  immortal  gods  who  are  now  dead ;  but  the  Pantheon 
in  Oxford  Street,  ladies,  where  you  purchase  feeble  poma- 
tums, music,  glassware,  and  baby-linen ;  and  which  has  its 
history  too.  Have  not  Selwyn,  and  Walpole,  and  ^larch, 
and  Carlisle  figured  there  ?  Has  not  Prince  Plorizel 
flounced  through  the  hall  in  his  rustling  domino,  and 
danced  there  in  powdered  splendor  ?  and  when  the  ushers 
refused  admission  to  lovely  Sophy  Baddeley,  did  not  the 
young  men,  her  adorers,  draw  their  rapiers  and  vow  to  slay 
the  door-keepers  ;  and,  crossing  the  glittering  blades  over 
the  enchantress's  head,  make  a  warlike  triumphal  arch  for 
her  to  pass  under,  all  flushed,  and  smiling,  and  perfumed, 
and  painted  ?  The  lives  of  streets  are  as  the  lives  of  men, 
and  shall  not  the  street-preacher,  if  so  minded,  take  for  the 
text  of  his  sermon  the  stones  in  the  gutter  ?  That  you 
were  once  the  resort  of  the  fashion,  O  INIonmouth  Street ! 
by  the  invocation  of  blessed  St.  Giles  shall  I  not  improve 
that  sweet  thought  into  a  godly  discourse,  and  make  the 
ruin  edifying?  0  mes  jfreres !  There  were  splendid 
thoroughfares,  dazzling  company,  bright  illuminations,  in 
our  streets  when  our  hearts  were  young :  we  entertained  in 
them  a  noble  youthful  company  of  chivalrous  hopes  and 


128  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

lofty  ambitions ;  of  blushing  thouglits  in  snowy  robes 
spotless  and  virginal.  See,  in  the  embrasure  of  the 
window,  w^here  you  sat  looking  to  the  stars,  and  nestling 
by  the  soft  side  of  your  first  love,  hang  Mr.  JMoses' 
bargains  of  turned  old  clothes,  very  cheap;  of  worn  old 
boots,  bedraggled  in  how  much  and  how  many  people's 
mud ;  a  great  bargain.  See !  along  the  street,  strewed 
with  flowers  once,  mayhap  —  a  fight  of  beggars  for  the 
refuse  of  an  apple-stall,  or  a  tipsy  basket-woman  reeling 
slirieking  to  the  station.  0  me  !  0  my  beloved  congrega- 
tion !  I  have  preached  this  stale  sermon  to  you  for  ever  so 
many  years.  O  my  jolly  companions,  I  have  drunk  many 
a  bout  Avith  you,  and  always  found  vanitas  vanitatinn 
written  on  the  bottom  of  the  pot ! 

I  choose  to  moralize  now  when  I  pass  the  place.  The 
garden  has  run  to  seed,  the  walks  are  mildewed,  the  statues 
have  broken  noses,  the  gravel  is  dank  with  green  moss,  the 
roses  are  withered,  and  the  nightingales  have  ceased  to 
make  love.  It  is  a  funereal  street.  Old  Parr  Street, 
certainly ;  the  carriages  which  drive  there  ought  to  have 
feathers  on  the  roof,  and  the  butlers  who  open  the  doors 
should  wear  weepers  —  so  the  scene  strikes  you  now  as  you 
pass  along  the  spacious  empty  pavement.  You  are  bilious, 
my  good  man.  Go  and  pay  a  guinea,  to  one  of  the  doctors 
in  those  houses ;  there  are  still  doctors  there.  He  will 
prescribe  taraxacum  for  you,  or  pil :  hydrarg  :  Bless  vou  ! 
in  my  time,  to  us  gentlemen  of  the  fifth  form,  the  place 
was  bearable.  The  yellow  fogs  didn't  damp  our  spirits  — 
and  Ave  ncA^er  thought  them  too  thick  to  keep  us  aAvay  from 
the  play :  from  the  chivalrous  Charles  Kemble,  I  tell  you, 
my  Mirabel,  my  Mercutio,  my  princely  Falconbridge :  from 
his  adorable  daughter  (0  my  distracted  heart !)  :  from  the 
classic  Young :  from  the  glorious  Long  Tom  Coffin :  from 
the  unearthly  Vanderdecken  —  "  Eeturn,  0  my  love,  and 
Ave'll  never,  ncA^er  part"  (Avhere  art  thou,  sweet  singer  of 
that  most  thrilling  ditty  of  my  youth  ?)  :  from  the  sweet, 
sweet  Victorine  and  the  Bottle  Imp.  Oh,  to  see  that  Bottle 
Imp  again,  and  hear  that  song  about  the  "Pilgrim  of 
Love  "  !  Once,  but  —  hush  ;  —  this  is  a  secret  —  Ave  had 
private  boxes,  the  doctor's  grand  friends  often  sending  him 
these;  and  finding  the  opera  rather  sIoav,  Ave  w^ent  to  a 
concert  in  M-d-n  Lane,  near  CoA^ent  Garden,  and  heard  the 
most  celestial  glees,  over  a  supper  of  fizzing  sausages  and 
mashed  potatoes,  such  as  the  world  has  never  seen  since. 


ox  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        129 

We  did  no  harm  ;  but  I  dare  say  it  was  veiy  wrong.  Brice, 
the  butler,  ought  not  to  have  taken  us.  We  bullied  him, 
and  made  him  take  us  where  he  liked.  We  had  rum-shrub 
in  the  housekeeper's  room,  where  we  used  to  be  diverted  by 
the  society  of  other  butlers  of  the  neighboring  nobility  and 
gentry,  who  would  step  in.  Perhaps  it  was  wrong  to  leave 
us  so  to  the  company  of  servants.  Dr.  Firmin  used  to  go 
to  his  grand  parties,  Mrs.  Firmin  to  bed.  ''  Did  we  enjoy 
the  performance  last  night  ?  "  our  host  would  ask  at  break- 
fast !  '•  Oh,  yes,  we  enjoyed  the  performance  ! "  But 
my  poor  Mrs.  Firmin  fancied  that  Ave  enjoyed  Semlr- 
am'ule  or  the  Donna  del  Logo;  whereas  we  had  been 
to  the  pit  at  the  Adelphi  (out  of  our  own  money),  and  seen 
that  jolly  John  Eeeve,  and  laughed  —  laughed  till  we  were 
fit  to  drop  —  and  stayed  till  the  curtain  was  down.  And 
then  we  would  come  home,  and,  as  aforesaid,  pass  a  delight- 
ful hour  over  supper,  and  hear"  the  anecdotes  of  Mr.  Brice's 
friends,  the  other  butlers.  Ah,  that  was  a  time  indeed! 
There  never  was  any  liquor  so  good  as  rum-shrub,  never ; 
and  the  sausages  had  a  flavor  of  Elysium,  How  hushed  we 
were  when  Dr.  Firmin,  coming  home  from  his  parties,  let 
himself  in  at  the  street-door !  Shoeless,  we  crept  up  to 
our  bedrooms.  And  we  came  down  to  breakfast  with 
innocent  young  faces  —  and  let  ^Irs.  Firmin,  at  lunch, 
prattle  about  the  opera ;  and  there  stood  Brice  and  the  foot- 
man behind  us,  looking  quite  grave,  the  abominable  hypo- 
crites ! 

Then,  sir,  there  was  a  certain  way,  out  of  the  study  win- 
dow, or  through  the  kitchen,  and  over  the  leads,  to  a  build- 
ing, gloomy  indeed,  but  where  I  own  to  have  spent  delightful 
hours  of  the  most  flagitious  and  criminal  enjo^^ment  of  some 
delicious  little  Havanas,  ten  to  the  shilling.  In  that  build- 
ing there  were  stables  once,  doubtless  occupied  by  great 
Flemish  horses  and  rumbling  gold  coaches  of  Walpole's 
time ;  but  a  celebrated  surgeon,  when  he  took  possession  of 
the  house,  made  a  lecture-room  of  the  premises,  — "  And 
this  door,"  says  Phil,  pointing  to  one  leading  into  the  mews, 
"  was  very  convenient  for  having  the  bodies  in  and  out"  — 
a  cheerful  reminiscence.  Of  this  kind  of  furniture  there 
was  now  very  little  in  the  apartment,  except  a  dilapidated 
skeleton  in  a  corner,  a  few  dusty  casts  of  heads,  and  bottles 
of  preparations  on  the  top  of  an  old  bureau,  and  some  mil- 
dewed harness  hanging  on  tlie  walls.  This  apartment  be- 
came Mr.  PhiFs  smoking-room,  when,  as  he  grew  taller,  he 

VOL.    I.  — 9 


130  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

felt  himself  too  dignified  to  sit  in  the  kitchen  regions:  the 
honest  butler  and  housekeeper  themselves  pointing  out  to 
their  young  master  that  his  place  was  elsewhere  than  among 
the  servants.  So  there,  j^rivately  and  with  great  delectation, 
we  smoked  man}^  an  abominable  cigar  in  that  dreary  back- 
room, the  gaunt  walls  and  twilight  ceilings  of  which  were 
by  no  means  melancholy  to  us,  who  found  forbidden  pleas- 
ures the  sweetest,  after  the  absurd  fashion  of  boys.  Dr. 
Firmin  was  an  enemy  to  smoking,  and  ever  accustomed  to 
speak  of  the  practice  with  eloquent  indignation.  "It  was 
a  low  practice  —  the  habit  of  cabmen,  pothouse  frequenters, 
and  Irish  apple-women,"  the  doctor  would  say,  as  Phil  and 
his  friend  looked  at  each  other  with  a  stealthy  joy.  Phil's 
father  was  ever  scented  and  neat,  the  pattern  of  handsome 
propriety.  Perhaps  he  had  a  clearer  perception  regarding 
manners  than  respecting  morals ;  perhaps  his  conversation 
was  full  of  platitudes,  his  talk  (concerning  people  of  fashion 
chiefly)  mean  and  uninstructive,  his  behavior  to  young  Lord 
Egham  rather  fulsome  and  lacking  of  dignity.  Perhaps,  I 
say,  the  idea  may  have  entered  into  young  Mr.  Pendennis's 
mind  that  his  hospitable  entertainer  and  friend.  Dr.  Firmin, 
of  Old  Parr  Street,  was  wliat  at  the  present  day  inight  be 
denominated  an  old  humbug;  but  modest  young  men  do  not 
come  quickly  to  such  unpleasant  conclusions  regarding  their 
seniors.  Dr.  Firmin's  manners  were  so  good,  his  forehead 
was  so  high,  his  frill  so  fresh,  his  hands  so  white  and  slim, 
that  for  some  considerable  time  we  ingenuously  admired 
him ;  and  it  was  not  without  a  pang  that  we  came  to  view 
him  as  he  actually  was  —  no,  not  as  he  actually  was — no 
man  Avhose  early  nurture  was  kindly  can  judge  quite  impar- 
tially the  man  who  has  been  kind  to  him  in  boyhood. 

I  quitted  school  suddenly,  leaving  my  little  Phil  behind 
me,  a  brave  little  handsome  boy,  endearing  himself  to  old 
and  young  by  his  good  looks,  his  gayety,  his  courage,  and 
his  gentlemanly  bearing.  Once  in  a  way  a  letter  would 
come  from  him,  full  of  that  artless  affection  and  tenderness 
which  fills  boys'  hearts,  and  is  so  touching  in  their  letters. 
It  was  answered  with  proper  dignity  and  condescension  on 
the  senior  boy's  part.  Our  modest  little  country  home  kept 
up  a  friendly  intercourse  with  Dr.  Firmin's  grand  London 
mansion,  of  which,  in  his  visits  to  us,  my  uncle.  Major  Pen- 
dennis,  did  not  fail  to  bring  news.  A  correspondence  took 
place  between  the  ladies  of  each  house.  We  supplied  ^NFrs. 
Firmin  with  little  country  presents,  tokens  of  ni}^  mother's 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        131 

good-will  and  gratitude  towards  the  friends  who  had  been 
kind  to  her  son.  I  went  my  way  to  the  university,  having 
occasional  glimpes  of  Phil  at  school.  I  took  chambers  in 
the  Temple,  which  he  found  great  delight  in  visiting;  and 
he  liked  our  homely  dinner  from  Dick's,  and  a  bed  on  the 
sofa,  better  than  the  splendid  entertainments  in  Old  Parr 
Street  and  his  great  glooni}^  chamber  there.  He  had  grown 
by  this  time  to  be  ever  so  much  taller  than  his  senior, 
though  he  always  persists  in  looking  up  to  me  unto  the 
present  day. 

A  very  few  weeks  after  my  poor  mother  passed  that 
judgment  on  jNIrs.  Firmin,  she  saw  reason  to  regret  and 
revoke  it.  Phil's  mother,  who  was  afraid,  or  perhaps  was 
forbidden,  to  attend  her  son  in  his  illness  at  school,  was 
taken  ill  herself. 

Phil  returned  to  Grey  Priars  in  a  deep  suit  of  black ;  the 
servants  on  the  carriage  wore  black  too;  and  a  certain 
tyrant  of  the  place,  beginning  to  laugh  and  jeer  because 
Pirmin's  eyes  tilled  with  tears  at  some  ribald  remark,  was 
gruffly  rebuked  b}"  Sampson  major,  the  cock  of  the  whole 
school;  and  with  the  question,  "Don't  you  see  the  poor 
beggar's  in  mourning,  you  great  brute  ?  "  was  kicked  about 
his  business. 

When  Philip  Pirmin  and  I  met  again,  there  was  crape  on 
both  our  hats.  I  don't  think  either  could  see  the  other's 
face  very  well.  I  went  to  see  him  in  Parr  Street,  in  the 
vacant,  melancholy  house,  where  the  poor  mother's  picture 
was  yet  hanging  in  her  empty  drawing-room. 

'•'  She  was  always  fond  of  you,  Pendennis,"  said  Phil. 
"God  bless  you  for  being  so  good  to  her.  You  know  what 
it  is  to  lose  —  to  lose  what  loves  you  best  in  the  world.  I 
didn't  know  how  —  how  I  loved  her,  till  I  had  lost  her." 
And  many  a  sob  broke  his  words  as  he  spoke. 

Her  picture  was  removed  from  the  drawing-room  present- 
ly into  Phil's  own  little  study  —  the  room  in  which  he  sat 
and  defied  his  father.  What  had  passed  between  them  ? 
The  young  man  Avas  very  much  changed.  The  frank  looks 
of  old  days  were  gone,  and  Phil's  face  was  haggard  and 
bold.  The  doctor  would  not  let  me  have  a  word  more  with 
his  son  after  he  had  found  us  together,  but  with  dubious  ap- 
pealing looks,  followed  me  to  the  door,  and  shut  it  upon  me. 
I  felt  that  it  closed  iipon  two  unhappy  men. 


CHAPTER   III. 


A     CONSULTATION. 


HOULD  I  peer  into  Firmin's 
privacy,  and  find  the  key  to 
that  secret  ?  Wliat  skeleton 
was  there  in  the  closet  ?  In 
the  Cornhill  Magazine,*  you 
may  remember,  there  were 
some  verses  about  a  portion  of 
a  skeleton.  Did  you  remark 
how  the  poet  and  present  pro- 
prietor of  the  human  skull  at 
once  settled  the  sex  of  it, 
and  determined  off-hand  that 
it  must  have  belonged  to  a 
w  Oman?  Such  skulls  are 
locked  up  in  many  gentlemen's 
hearts  and  memories.  Blue- 
beard, you  know,  had  a  whole 
museum  of  them  —  as  that 
imprudent  little  last  wife  of 
his  found  out  to  her  cost. 
And,  on  the  other  hand,  a  lady, 
we  suppose,  would  select  hers 
of  the  sort  which  had  carried  beards  when  in  the  flesh. 
Given  a  neat  locked  skeleton  cupboard,  belonginp^  to  a  man 
of  a  certain  age,  to  ascertain  the  sex  of  the  original  owner 
of  the  bones,  you  have  not  much  need  of  a  picklock  or  a  black- 
smith. There  is  no  use  in  forcing  the  hinge,  or  scratching 
the  pretty  panel.  We  know  what  is  inside  —  we  arch 
rogues  and  men  of  the  world.  Murders,  I  suppose,  are  not 
many  —  enemies  and  victims  of  our  hate  and  anger, 
destroyed  and  trampled  out  of  life  by  us,  and  locked  out  of 
sight :  but  corpses  of  our  dead  loves,  my  dear  sir  —  my  dear 
madam  —  have  we  not  got  them  stowed  away  in  cupboard 

*  No.  12:  December,  1860. 
132 


'^>^ 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP,  133 

after  cupboard,  in  bottle  after  bottle?  Oli,  fie!  And 
young  people  !  What  doctrine  is  this  to  preach  to  them, 
who  spell  3-our  book  by  papa's  and  mamma's  knee  ?  Yes, 
and  how  wrong  it  is  to  let  them  go  to  church,  and  see  and 
hear  papa  and  mamma  publicly  on  their  knees,  calling  out, 
and  confessing  to  the  whole  congregation,  that  they  are 
sinners !  So,  though  I  had  not  the  key,  I  could  see- 
through  the  panel  and  the  glimmering  of  the  skeleton 
inside. 

Although  the  elder  Firmin  followed  me  to  the  door,  and 
his  e^'es  only  left  me  as  I  turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  I 
felt  sure  that  Phil  ere  long  would  open  his  mind  to  me,  or 
give  me  sonre  clew  to  that  mystery.  I  should  hear  from 
him  why  his  bright  cheeks  had  become  hollow,  why  his 
fresh  voice,  which  I  remember  so  honest  and  cheerful,  was 
now  harsh  and  sarcastic,  with  tones  that  often  grated  on 
the  hearer,  and  laughter  that  gave  pain.  It  was  about 
Philip  himself  that  my  anxieties  were.  The  young  fellow 
had  inherited  from  his  poor  mother  a  considerable  fortune 
—  some  eight  or  nine  hundred  a  year,  we  always  under- 
stood. He  was  living  in  a  costly,  not  to  say  extravagant 
manner.  I  thought  Mr.  Philip's  juvenile  remorses  were 
locked  up  in  the  skeleton  closet,  and  was  grieved  to  think 
he  had  fallen  in  mischief 's  way.  Hence,  no  doubt,  might 
arise  the  anger  between  him  and  his  father.  The  boy  was 
extravagant  and  headstrong ;  and  the  parent  remonstrant 
and  irritated. 

I  met  my  old  friend  Dr.  Goodenough  at  the  club  one 
evening;  and  as  we  dined  together  I  discoursed  with  him 
about  his  former  patient,  and  recalled  to  him  that  day,  years 
back,  when  the  boy  was  ill  at  school,  aud  when  my  poor 
mother  and  Phil's  own  were  yet  alive.  . 

Goodenough  looked  very  grave. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  ^'  the  boy  was  very  ill ;  he  was  nearly 
f?one  at  that  time  —  at  that  time — -when  his  mother  was  in 
the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  his  father  dangling  after  a  prince. 
We  thought  one  day  it  was  all  over  with  him  ;  but  —  " 

"  But  a  good  doctor  interposed  between  him  and  imll'uhi 
mors.'''' 

''  A  good  doctor  ?  a  good  nurse  !  The  boy  was  delirious, 
and  had  a  fancy  to  walk  out  of  window,  and  Avould  have 
done  so,  but  for  one  of  mv  nurses.     You  know  her." 

^'What!  the  Little  Sister?" 

"Yes,  the  Little  Sister." 


134  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

"  And  it  was  she  who  nursed  Phil  through  his  fever,  and 
saved  his  life  ?  I  drink  her  health.  She  is  a  good  little 
soul." 

"  Good ! "  said  the  doctor,  with  his  gruffest  voice  and 
frown.  (He  was  always  most  herce  when  he  was  most 
tender-hearted.)  "Good,  indeed!  Will  you  have  some 
more  of  this  duck  ?  —  Do.  You  have  had  enough  already, 
and  it's  very  unwholesome.  Good,  sir  ?  But  for  women,  tire 
and  brimstone  ought  to  come  down  and  consume  this  world. 
Your  dear  mother  was  one  of  the  good  ones.  I  was  attend- 
ing you  when  you  were  ill,  at  those  horrible  chambers 
you  had  in  the  Temple,  at  the  same  time  when  young  Fir- 
min  was  ill  at  Grey  Friars.  And  I  suppose  I  must  be 
answerable  for  keeping  two  scapegraces  in  the  world." 

"  Why  didn't  Dr.  Firmin  come  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  Hm  !  his  nerves  were  too  delicate.  Besides,  he  did 
come.     Talk  of  the     =^     ^     * '' 

The  personage  designated  by  asterisks  was  Phil's  father, 
who  was  also  a  member  of  our  club,  and  who  entered  the 
dining-room,  tall,  stately,  and  pale,  with  his  stereotyped 
smile,  and  wave  of  his  pretty  hand.  By  the  way,  that 
smile  of  Firmin's  was  a  very  queer  contortion  of  the  hand- 
some features.  As  you  came  up  to  him  he  would  draw  his 
lips  over  his  teeth,  causing  his  jaws  to  Avrinkle  (or  dimple 
if  you  will)  on  either  side.  Meanwhile  his  eyes  looked  out 
from  his  face,  quite  melancholy  and  independent  of  the 
little  transaction  in  which  the  mouth  was  engaged.  Lips 
said,  "  I  am  a  gentleman  of  fine  manners  and  fascinating 
address,  and  I  am  supposed  to  be  happy  to  see  you.  How 
do  you  do  ?  "  Dreary,  sad,  as  into  a  great  blank  desert, 
looked  the  dark  eyes.  I  do  know  one  or  two,  but  only  one 
or  two  faces  of  men  when  oppressed  with  care,  which  can 
yet  smile  all  over. 

Goodenough  nods  grimly  to  the  smile  of  the  other  doctor, 
who  blandly  looks  at  our  table,  holding  his  chin  in  one  of 
his  pretty  hands. 

"How  do?"  growls  Goodenough.  "Young  hopeful 
well  ?  " 

"  Young  hopeful  sits  smoking  cigars  till  morning  Avith 
some  friends  of  his,"  says  Firmin,  with  the  sad  smile  di- 
rected towards  me  this  time.  "  Boys  Avill  be  boys."  And 
he  pensively  walks  away  from  us  with  a  friendly  nod 
towards  me  ;  examines  the  dinner-card  in  an  attitude  of 
melancholy  grace;  points  Avith  the  jewelled  hand  to  the 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        135 

dishes  which  he  will  have  served,  and  is  off,  and  simpering 
to  another  acquaintance  at  a  distant  table. 

"  I  thought  he  would  take  that  table,''  says  Firmin's  cyni- 
cal confrere. 

"  In  the  draught  of  the  door  ?  Don't  you  see  how  the 
candle  flickers  ?     It  is  the  worst  place  in  the  room  ! " 

'"  Yes ;  but  don't  you  see  who  is  sitting  at  the  next 
table  ?  " 

]S"ow  at  the  next  table  was  a  n-blem-n  of  vast  wealth,  who 
was  growling  at  the  quality  of  the  mutton  cutlets,  and  the 
half-pint  of  sherr}'  which  he  had  ordered  for  his  dinner. 
But  as  his  lordship  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  ensuing 
history,  of  course  we  shall  not  violate  confidence  by 
mentioning  his  name.  We  could  see  Firmin  smiling  on 
his  neighbor  with  his  blandest  melancholy,  and  the  waiters 
presently  bearing  up  the  dishes  which  the  doctor  had 
ordered  for  his  own  refection.  He  was  no  lover  of  mutton- 
chops  and  coarse  sherr}',  as  I  knew,  who  had  partaken  of 
many  a  feast  at  his  board.  I  could  see  the  diamond  twinkle 
on  his  pretty  hand,  as  it  daintily  poured  out  creaming  wine 
from  the  ice-pail  by  his  side  —  the  liberal  hand  that  had 
given  me  many  a  sovereign  when  I  was  a  boy. 

'•  I  can't  help  liking  him,"  I  said  to  my  companion,  whose 
scornful  eyes  were  now  and  again  directed  towards  his  col- 
league. 

'•  This  port  is  very  sweet.  Almost  all  port  is  sweet  now," 
remarks  the  doctor. 

"  He  was  very  kind  to  me  in  ni}'  school-days  ;  and  Philip 
was  a  fine  little  fellow." 

"Handsome  a  boy  as  ever  I  saw.  Does  he  keep  his 
beauty.?  Father  was  a  handsome  man  —  very.  Quite  a 
lady-killer  — I  mean  out  of  his  practice  ! "  adds  the  grim 
doctor.     "What  is  the  boy  doing?  " 

"  He  is  at  the  university.  He  has  his  mother's  fortune. 
He  is  wild  and  unsettled,  and  I  fear  he  is  going  to  the  bad 
a  little." 

"Is  he?    Shouldn't  wonder  I  "  grumbles  Goodenough. 

We  had  talked  very  frankly  and  ])leasantly  \nitil  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  other  doctor,  but  with  Firmin's  arrival 
Goodenough  seemed  to  button  up  his  conversation.  He 
quickly  stumped  away  from  the  dining-room  to  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  sat  over  a  novel  there  until  time  came  when 
he  was  to  retire  to  his  patients  or  liis  home. 

That  there  was  no  liking  between  the  doctors,  that  there 


136  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

was  a  difference  between  Pliilip  and  his  father,  was  clear 
enough  to  me  :  but  the  causes  of  these  differences  I  had 
yet  to  learn.  The  story  came  to  me  piecemeal;  from  con- 
fessions here,  admissions  there,  deductions  of  my  own.  I 
could  not,  of  course,  be  present  at  many  of  the  scenes 
which  I  shall  have  to  relate  as  though  I  had  witnessed 
them  ;  and  the  posture,  language,  and  inward  thoughts  of 
Philip  and  his  friends,  as  here  related,  no  doubt  are  fancies 
of  the  narrator  in  many  cases ;  but  the  story  is  as  authen- 
tic as  many  histories,  and  the  reader  need  only  give  such 
an  amount  of  credence  to  it  as  he  may  judge  that  its  verisi- 
militude warrants. 

Well,  then,  we  must  not  only  revert  to  that  illness  which 
befell  when  Philip  Firmin  was  a  boy  at  Grey  Friars,  but  go 
back  yet  farther  in  time  to  a  period  Avhich  I  cannot  pre- 
cisely ascertain. 

The  pupils  of  old  Gandish's  painting  academy  may  re- 
member a  ridiculous  little  man,  with  a  great  deal  of  wild 
talent,  about  the  ultimate  success  of  which  his  friends  were 
divided.  Whether  Andrew  was  a  genius,  or  whether  he 
was  a  zany,  was  always  a  moot  question  among  the  fre- 
quenters of  the  Greek  Street  billiard-rooms,  and  the  noble 
disciples  of  the  Academy  and  St.  Martin's  Lane.  He  may 
have  been  crazy  and  absurd ;  he  may  have  had  talent  too ; 
such  characters  are  not  unknown  in  art  or  in  literature. 
He  broke  the  Queen's  English ;  he  was  ignorant  to  a 
wonder ;  he  dressed  his  little  person  in  the  most  fantastic 
raiment  and  queerest  cheap  finery :  he  wore  a  beard,  bless 
my  soul !  twenty  years  before  beards  were  known  to  wag  in 
Britain.  He  was  the  most  affected  little  creature,  and,  if 
you  looked  at  him,  would  j'^ose  in  attitudes  of  such  ludi- 
crous dirty  dignity,  that  if  you  had  had  a  dun  waiting  for 
money  in  the  hall  of  your  lodging-house,  or  your  picture 
refused  at  the  Academy  —  if  you  were  suffering  under  ever 
so  much  calamity  —  you  could  not  help  laughing.  He  was 
the  butt  of  all  his  acquaintances,  the  laughing-stock  of 
high  and  low,  and  he  had  as  loving,  gentle,  faithful,  honor- 
able a  heart  as  ever  beat  in  a  little  bosom.  He  is  gone  to 
his  rest  noAv;  his  palette  and  easel  are  waste  timber;  his 
genius,  which  made  some  little  flicker  of  brightness,  never 
shone  much,  and  is  extinct.  In  an  old  album  that  dates 
back  for  more  than  a  score  of  years,  I  sometimes  look  at 
poor  Andrew's  strange  wild  sketches.  He  might  have 
done  something  had  he  continued  to  remain  poor;  but  a 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        137 

rich  widow,  Avhom  he  met  at  Eome,  fell  in  love  with  the 
strange  errant  painter,  pursued  him  to  England,  and  mar- 
ried him  in  spite  of  himself.  His  genius  drooped  under 
the  servitude :  he  lived  but  a  few  short  years,  and  died  of 
a  consumjjtion,  of  which  the  good  Goodenough's  skill  could 
not  cure  him. 

One  day,  as  he  was  driving  with  his  wife  in  her  splendid 
barouclie  through  the  Haymarket,  he  suddenly  bade  the 
coachman  stop,  sprang  over  the  side  of  the  carriage  before 
the  steps  could  be  let  fall,  and  his  astonished  wife  saw  him 
shaking  the  hands  of  a  shabbily  dressed  little  woman  who 
was  passing,  —  shaking  both  her  hands,  and  weeping,  and 
gesticulating,  and  twisting  his  beard  and  mustachios,  as 
his  wont  was  when  agitated.  Mrs.  Montiitchet  (the 
wealthy  jNIrs.  Carrickfergus  she  had  been,  before  she  mar- 
ried the  painter),  the  owner  of  a  young  husband,  Avho  had 
sjH'ung  from  her  side,  and  out  of  her  carriage,  in  order  to 
caress  a  young  woman  passing  in  the  street,  might  well  be 
disturbed  by  this  demonstration ;  but  she  was  a  kind- 
hearted  woman,  and  when  Montiitchet,  on  reascending  into 
the  family  coach,  told  his  wife  the  history  of  the  person  of 
whom  he  had  just  taken  leave,  she  cried  plentifully  too. 
She  bade  the  coachman  drive  straightway  to  her  own 
house  ;  she  rushed  up  to  her  own  apartments,  whence  she 
emerged,  bearing  an  immense  bag  full  of  wearing  apparel, 
and  followed  by  a  panting  butler,  carrying  a  bottle-basket 
and  a  pie :  and  she  drove  off,  with  her  pleased  Andrew  by 
her  side,  to  a  court  in  Bt.  INIartin's  Lane,  where  dwelt  the 
poor  woman  with  whom  he  had  just  been  conversing. 

It  had  pleased  heaven,  in  the  midst  of  dreadful  calamity, 
to  send  her  friends  and  succor.  She  was  suffering  under 
misfortune,  poverty,  and  cowardly  desertion.  A  man  who 
had  called  himself  "^Brandon  when  he  took  lodgings  in  her 
father's  house,  married  her,  brought  her  to  London,  tired 
of  her,  and  left  her.  She  had  reason  to  think  he  had  given 
a  false  name  when  he  lodged  with  her  father :  he  fled, 
after  a  few  months,  and  his  real  name  she  never  knew. 
When  he  deserted  her,  she  went  back  to  her  father,  a  weak 
man,  married  to  a  domineering  woman,  who  pretended  to 
disbelieve  the  story  of  her  marriage,  and  drove  her  from 
the  door.  Desperate,  and  almost  mad,  she  came  back  to 
London,  where  she  still  had  some  little  relics  of  property 
that  her  fugitive  husband  left  behind  him.  He  promised, 
when  he  left  her,  to  remit  her  money ;  but  he  sent  none, 


:138  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

or  she  refused  it  —  or,  in  her  wildness  and  despair,  lost  the 
dreadful  paper  which  announced  his  desertion,  and  that  he 
was  married  before,  and  that  to  pursue  him  would  ruin 
him,  and  he  knew  she  never  would  do  that  —  no,  however 
much  he  might  have  wronged  her. 

She  was  penniless  then,  —  deserted  by  all,  — having  made 
away  with  the  last  trinket  of  her  brief  days  of  love,  having 
sokf  the  last  little  remnant  of  her  poor  little  stock  of  clothing 
—  alone  in  the  great  wilderness  of  London,  when  it  pleased 
God  to  send  her  succor  in  the  person  of  an  old  friend  who 
had  known  her,  and  even  loved  her,  m  happier  days.  When 
the  Samaritans  came  to  this  poor  child,  they  found  her  sick 
and  shuddering  with  fever.  They  brought  their  doctor  to 
her,  who  is  never  so  eager  as  when  he  runs  up  a  poor  man's 
stair.  And  as  he  watched  by  the  bed  where  her  kind  friends 
came  to  help  her,  he  heard  her  sad  little  story  of  trust  and 
desertion. 

Her  father  was  a  humble  person  who  had  seen  better  days ; 
and  poor  little  Mrs.  Brandon  had  a  sweetness  and  simplicity 
of  manner  which  exceedingly  touched  the  good  doctor. 
She  had  little  education,  except  that  which  silence,  long- 
suffering,  seclusion,  will  sometimes  give.  When  cured  of 
her  illness,  there  was  the  great  and  constant  evil  of  poverty 
to  meet  and  overcome.  How  Avas  she  to  live  ?  He  got  to 
be  as  fond  of  hsr  as  of  a  child  of  his  own.  She  was  tidy, 
thrifty,  gay  at  times,  with  a  little  simple  cheerfulness.  The 
little  flowers  began  to  bloom  as  the  sunshine  touched  them. 
Her  whole  life  hitherto  had  been  cowering  under  neglect, 
and  tyranny,  and  gloom. 

Mr.  Montfitchet  was  for  coming  so  often  to  look  after  the 
little  outcast  whom  he  had  succored  that  I  am  bound  to  say 
Mrs.  M.  became  hysterically  jealous,  and  waited  for  him  on 
the  stairs  as  he  came  down  swathed  in  his  Spanish  cloak, 
pounced  on  him,  and  called  him  a  monster.  Goodenough 
was  also,  I  fancy,  suspicious  of  Montfitchet,  and  Montfitchet 
of  Goodenough.  Howbeit,  the  doctor  vowed  that  he  never 
had  other  than  the  feeling  of  a  father  towards  his  poor  little 
protegee,  nor  could  any  father  be  more  tender.  He  did  not 
try  to  take  her  out  of  her  station  in  life.  He  found,  or 
she  found  for  herself,  a  work  which  she  could  do.  "  Papa 
used  to  say  no  one  ever  nursed  him  so  nice  as  I  did,"  she 
said.  "  I  think  I  could  do  that  better  than  anything,  except 
my  needle,  but  I  like  to  be  useful  to  poor  sick  people  best. 
I   don't    think   about    myself    then,    sir."     And    for    this 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        139 

business  good  Dr.  Goodenougli  had  her  educated  and 
employed. 

The  widow  died  in  course  of  time  whom  Mrs.  Brandon's 
father  had  married,  and  her  daughters  refused  to  keep  him, 
speaking  very  disrespectfully  of  this  old  Mr.  Gann,  who  was, 
indeed,  a  weak  old  man.  And  now  Caroline  came  to  the 
rescue  of  her  old  father.  She  was  a  shrewd  little  Caroline. 
IShe  had  saved  a  little  money.  Goodenougli  gave  up  a 
country-house  which  he  did  not  care  to  use,  and  lent  Mrs. 
Brandon  the  furniture.  She  thought  she  could  keep  a 
lodging-house  and  find  lodgers.  Montfitchet  had  painted 
her.  There  was  a  sort  of  beauty  about  her  which  the  artists 
admired.  When  Ridley  the  Academician  had  the  small-pox, 
she  attended  him,  and  caught  the  malady.  She  did  not 
mind ;  not  she.  "  It  won't  spoil  my  beauty,"  she  said.  Nor 
did  it.  The  disease  dealt  very  kindly  with  her  little  modest 
face.  I  don't  know  who  gave  her  the  nickname,  but  she 
had  a  good  roomy  house  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  an  artist  on 
the  first  and  second  floor ;  and  there  never  was  a  word  of 
scandal  against  the  Little  Sister,  for  was  not  her  father  in 
permanence  sipping  gin-and-water  in  the  ground-floor  par- 
lor ?  As  we  called  her  "  the  Little  Sister,"  her  father  was 
called  "  the  Captain  "  —  a  bragging,  lazy,  good-natured  old 
man  —  not  a  reputable  captain  —  and  very  cheerful,  though 
the  conduct  of  his  children,  he  said,  had  repeatedly  broken 
his  heart. 

I  don't  know  how  many  years  the  Little  Sister  had  been 
on  duty  when  Philip  Firmin  had  his  scarlet  fever.  It  be- 
fell him  at  the  end  of  the  term,  just  when  all  the  boys 
were  going  home.  His  tutor  and  his  tutor's  wife  wanted 
their  holidays,  and  sent  their  own  children  out  of  the  way. 
As  Phil's  father  was  absent,  Dr.  Goodenougli  came,  and  sent 
his  nurse  in.  The  case  grew  worse,  so  bad  that  Dr.  Firmin 
was  summoned  from  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  arrived  one 
evening  at  Grey  Friars  —  Grey  Friars  so  silent  now,  so 
noisy  at  other  times  with  the  shouts  and  crowds  of  the 
playground. 

Dr.  Goodenough's  carriage  was  at  the  door  when  Dr. 
Firmin's  carriage  drove  up. 

"  How  was  the  boy  ?  " 

"  He  had  been  very  bad.  He  had  been  wrong  in  the  head 
all  day,  talking  and  laughing  quite  wild-like,''  the  servant 
said. 

The  father  ran  up  the  stairs. 


Phil  was  in  a  great  room,  in  which  were  several  empty 
beds  of  boys  gone  home  for  the  holidays.  The  windows 
were  opened  into  Grey  Friars  Square.  Goodenough  heard 
Ms  colleague's  carriage  drive  up,  and  rightly  divined  that 
Phil's  father  had  arrived.  He  came  out,  and  met  Firmm  m 
the  ante-room. 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        141 

"Head  has  wandered  a  little.  Better  now,  and  quiet;" 
and  the  one  doctor  murmured  to  the  other  the  treatment 
which  he  had  pursued. 

Firmin  stepped  in  gently  towards  the  patient,  near  whose 
side  the  Little  Sister  was  standing. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  Phil. 

'•  It  is  I,  dear.  Your  father,"  said  Dr.  Firmin,  with  real 
tenderness  in  his  voice. 

The  Little  Sister  turned  round  once,  and  fell  down  like  a 
stone  by  the  bedside. 

"  You  infernal  villain  !  "  said  G-oodenough,  Avith  an  oath, 
and  a  step  forward.     "  You  are  the  man  ! " 

"  Hush !  The  patient,  if  you  please,  Dr.  Goodenough," 
said  the  other  physician. 


CHAPTEK   IV. 


A    GENTEEL    FAMILY. 


AVE  you  made 
up  your  mind 
on  the  ques- 
tion of  seem- 
ing and  being 
in  the  world  ? 
I  mean,  sup- 
pose you  ewe 
poor,  is  it 
right  for  you 
to  seem  to 
be  well  off? 
Have  people 
an  honest 
right  to  keep 
up  appear- 
ances? Are 
you  justified 
in  starving 
your  dinner- 
table  in  order  to  keep  a  carriage ;  to  have  such  an  expen- 
sive house  that  you  can't  by  any  possibility  help  a  poor 
relation ;  to  array  your  daughters  in  costly  milliners' 
wares  because  they  live  with  girls  whose  parents  are  twice 
as  rich  ?  Sometimes  it  is  hard  to  say  where  honest  pride 
ends  and  hypocrisy  begins.  To  obtrude  your  povert}^  is 
mean  and  slavish  ;  as  it  is  odious  for  a  beggar  to  ask  com- 
passion by  showing  his  sores.  But  to  simulate  prosperity 
—  to  be  wealthy  and  lavish  thrice  a  year  when  you  ask 
your  friends,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  time  to  munch  a  crust 
and  sit  by  one  candle  —  are  the  folks  who  practise  this 
deceit  worthy  of  applause  or  a  whippiuQ-  ?  Sometimes  it  is 
noble  pride,  sometimes  shabby  swindling.  When  I  see 
Eugenia  with  her  dear  children  exquisitel}^  neat  and  cheer- 

142 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP.  143 

fill ;  not  showing  tlie  slightest  semblance  of  poverty,  or 
uttering  the  smallest  complaint ;  persisting  that  Squander- 
held,  her  husband,  treats  her  well,  and  is  good  at  heart : 
and  denying  that  he  leaves  her  and  her  young  ones  in  want  • 
1  admire  and  reverence  that  noble  falsehood —  that  beautiful 
constanc}^  and  endurance  which  disdains  to  ask  compassion. 
AMien  I  sit  at  poor  Jezebella's  table,  and  am  treated  to  her 
sham  bounties  and  shabby  splendor,  I  only  feel  anger  for 
the  hospitality,  and  that  dinner,  and  guest,  and  host,  are 
humbugs  together. 

Talbot  Twysden's  dinner-table  is  large,  and  the  guests 
most  respectable.  There  is  always  a  bigwig  or  two  present, 
and  a  dining  dowager  who  frequents  the  greatest  houses. 
There  is  a  butler  avIio  offers  you  wine  ;  there's  a  me7m  du 
diner  before  Mrs.  Twysden  ;  and  to  read  it  you  would  fancy 
you  were  at  a  good  dinner.  It  tastes  of  chopped  straw. 
Oh,  the  dreary  sparkle  of  that  feeble  champagne ;  the 
audacity  of  that  public-house  sherry ;  tlie  swindle  of  that 
acrid  claret;  the  liery  twang  of  that  clammy  port!  I  have 
tried  them  all,  1  tell  you  I  It  is  sham  wine,  a  sham  dinner, 
a  sham  welcome,  a  sham  cheerfulness  among  the  guests 
assembled.  I  feel  that  that  woman  eyes  and  counts  the 
cutlets  as  they  are  carried  off  the  tables ;  perhaps  w  atches 
that  one  which  you  try  to  swallow.  She  has  counted  and 
grudged  each  candle  by  which  the  cook  prepares  the  meal. 
Does  her  big  coachman  fatten  himself  on  purloined  oats  and 
beans,  and  Thorley's  food  for  cattle  ?  Of  the  rinsings  of 
those  wretched  bottles  the  butler  will  have  to  give  a  reckon- 
ing in  the  morning.  Unless  you  are  of  the  very  great 
monde  Twysden  and  his  wife  think  themselves  better  than 
you  are,  and  seriously  patronize  you.  They  consider  it  is  a 
privilege  to  be  invited  to  those  horrible  meals  to  which 
the}^  gravely  ask  the  greatest  folks  in  the  country.  I 
actually  met  Winton  there  —  the  famous  Winton  —  the  best 
dinner-giver  in  the  world  (ah,  what  a  position  for  man !)  I 
watched  him,  and  marked  the  sort  of  wonder  which  came 
over  him  as  he  tasted  and  sent  away  dish  after  dish,  glass 
after  glass.  "  Try  that  Chateau  Margaux,  Winton !  "  calls 
out  the  host.  "  It  is  some  that  Bottleb}'  and  I  imported." 
Imported !  I  see  Winton's  face  as  he  tastes  the  wine,  and 
puts  it  down.  He  does  not  like  to  talk  about  that  dinner. 
He  has  lost  a  day.  Twysden  will  continue  to  ask  him 
every  year ;  will  continue  to  expect  to  be  asked  in  return, 
with  Mrs.  Twysden  and  one  of  his  daughters  ;  and   will 


144  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

express  his  surprise  loudly  at  the  club,  saying,  '^Hang 
Winton !  Deuce  take  the  fellow !  He  has  sent  me  no  game 
this  year ! "  When  foreign  dukes  and  princes  arrive, 
Twysden  straightway  collars  them,  and  invites  them  to  his 
house.  And  sometimes  they  go  once  —  and  then  ask, 
"  Qui  done  est  ce  Monsieur  Tvisden^  qui  est  si  di'ole?"  And 
he  elbows  his  way  up  to  them  at  the  Minister's  assemblies, 
and  frankly  gives  them  his  hand.  And  calm  Mrs.  Twysden 
wriggles,  and  works,  and  slides,  and  pushes,  and  tramples  if 
need  be,  her  girls  following  behind  her,  until  she  too  has 
come  up  under  the  eye3  of  the  great  man,  and  bestowed  on 
him  a  smile  and  a  courtesy.  Twysden  grasps  prosperity 
cordially  by  the  hand.  He  says  to  success,  "  Bravo  !  "  On 
the  contrary,  I  never  saw  a  man  more  resolute  in  not  know- 
ing unfortunate  people,  or  more  daringly  forgetful  of  those 
whom  he  does  not  care  to  remember.  If  this  Levite  met  a 
w^ayfarer,  going  down  from  Jerusalem,  who  had  fallen 
among  thieves,  do  you  think  he  would  stop  to  rescue  the 
fallen  man  ?  He  would  neither  give  wine,  nor  oil,  nor 
money.  He  would  pass  on  perfectly  satisfied  Avith  his  own 
virtue,  and  leave  the  other  to  go,  as  best  he  might,  to 
Jericho. 

What  is  this  ?  Am  I  angry  because  Twysden  has  left  off 
asking  me  to  his  vinegar  and  chopped  hay  ?  No.  I  think  not. 
Am  I  hurt  because  Mrs.  Tw3^sden  sometimes  patronizes  my 
wife,  and  sometimes  cuts  her  ?  Perhaps.  Only  women  thor- 
oughly know  the  insolence  of  women  towards  one  another  in 
the  v/orld.  That  is  a  very  stale  remark.  They  receive  and 
deliver  stabs,  smiling  politely.  Tom  Sayers  could  not  take 
punishment  more  gayly  than  they  do.  If  you  could  but  see 
under  the  skin,  you  would  find  their  little  hearts  scarred 
all  over  with  little  lancet  digs.  I  protest  I  have  seen  my 
own  wife  enduring  the  impertinence  of  this  woman,  with  a 
face  as  calm  and  placid  as  she  wears  when  old  Twysden 
himself  is  talking  to  her,  and  pouring  out  one  of  his  mad- 
dening long  stories.  Oh,  no !  I  am  not  angry  at  all.  I 
can  see  that  by  the  way  in  which  I  am  writing  of  these 
folks.  By  the  way,  whilst  I  am  giving  this  candid  opinion 
of  the  Twysdens,  do  I  sometimes  pause  to  consider  what 
they  think  of  me  ?  What  do  I  care  ?  Think  what  you 
like.  Meanwhile  we  bow  to  one  another  at  parties.  We 
smile  at  each  other  in  a  sickly  way.  And  as  for  the  din- 
ners in  Beaunash  Street,  I  hope  those  who  eat  them  enjoy 
their  food. 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        145 


Tw3^sden  is  one  of  the  chiefs  now  of  the  Powder  and 
Pomntum  Office  (the  Pigtail  branch  was  finally  abolished 
in  l.S:>Oj  after  the  Keforni  Pill,  with  a  compensation  to  the 
retiring  undersecretary),  and  his  son  is  a  clerk  in  the  same 
office.      When    they  came   oat,   the    daughters    were  ver}^ 

VOL.    T. 10 


146  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

pretty  —  even  my  wife  allows  that.  One  of  tliem  used  to 
ride  in  the  Park  with  her  father  or  brother  daily  ;  and 
knowing  what  his  salary  and  wife's  fortune  were,  and  what 
the  rent  of  his  house  in  Beaunash  Street,  everybody  won- 
dered how  the  Twysdens  could  make  both  ends  meet. 
They  had  horses,  carriages,  and  a  great  house  fit  for  at 
least  five  thousand  a  year ;  they  had  not  half  as  much,  as 
everybody  knew ;  and  it  Avas  supposed  that  old  Eingwood 
must  make  his  niece  an  allowance.  She  certainly  worked 
hard  to  get  it.  I  spoke  of  stabs  anon,  and  poor  little 
breasts  and  sides  scarred  all  over.  No  nuns,  no  monks,  no 
fakirs  take  whippings  more  kindly  than  some  devotees  of 
the  world ;  and,  as  the  punishment  is  one  for  edification, 
let  us  hope  the  world  lays  smartly  on  to  back  and  shoul- 
ders, and  Uses  the  thong  well. 

AYhen  old  Kingwood,  at  the  close  of  his  lifetime,  used  to 
come  to  visit  his  dear  niece  and  her  husband  and  children, 
he  alwaj^s  brought  a  cat-o'-nine-tails  in  his  pocket,  and 
administered  it  to  the  whole  household.  He  grinned  at 
the  poverty,  the  pretence,  the  meanness  of  the  people  as 
they  knelt  before  him  and  did  him  homage.  Ihe  father 
and  mother  trembling  brought  the  girls  up  for  punishment, 
and,  piteously  smiling,  received  their  own  boxes  on  the  ear 
in  presence  of  their  children.  ''Ah!"  the  little  French 
governess  used  to  say,  grinding  her  white  teeth.  "  I  like 
milor  to  come.  All  day  you  vip  me.  When  milor  come, 
he  vip  3^ou,  and  you  kneel  down  and  kiss  de  rod." 

They  certainly  knelt  and  took  their  whipping  with  the 
most  exemplary  fortitude.  Sometimes  the  lash  fell  on 
papa's  back,  sometimes  on  mamma's ;  now  it  stung  Agnes, 
and  now  it  lighted  on  Blanche's  pretty  shoulders.  But  I 
think  it  was  on  the  heir  of  the  house,  young  Eingwood 
Twysden,  that  my  lord  loved  best  to  operate.  Eing's  van- 
ity was  very  thin-skinned,  his  selfishness  easily  wounded, 
and  his  contortions  under  punishment  amused  the  old 
tormentor. 

As  my  lord's  brougham  drives  up  —  the  modest  little 
brown  brougham,  with  the  noble  horse,  the  lord  chancellor 
of  a  coachman,  and  the  ineffable  footman  — the  ladies,  who 
know  the  whir  of  the  wheels,  and  may  be  quarrelling  in 
the  drawing-room,  call  a  truce  to  the  fight,  and  smooth 
down  their  ruffled  tempers  and  raiment.  jNIamma  is  writ- 
ing at  her  table,  in  that  beautiful,  clear  hand  which  we  all 
admire ;  Blanche  is  at  her  book  j  Agnes  is  rising  from  the 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH  THE    WORLD.        147 

piano  quite  naturally.  A  quarrel  between  those  gentle, 
smiling,  delicate  creature !  Impossible !  About  your 
most  common  piece  of  hypocrisy  how  men  will  blush  and 
bungle :  how  easily,  how  gracefully,  how  consummately, 
women  will  perform  it ! 

''Well,"  growls  my  lord,  "you  are  all  in  such  pretty 
attitudes,  I  make  no  doubt  you  have  been  sparring.  I 
suspect,  Maria,  the  men  must  know  what  devilish  bad  tem- 
pers the  girls  have  got.  Who  can  have  seen  3- ou  lighting  ? 
You're  quiet  enough  here,  you  little  monkeys.  I  tell  you 
what  it  is.  Ladies'-miiids  get  about  and  talk  to  the  valets 
in  the  housekeeper's  room,  and  the  men  tell  their  masters. 
Upon  my  word  I  believe  it  was  that  business  last  year 
at  Whipham  which  frightened  Greenwood  off.  Famous 
match.  Good  house  in  town  and  country.  ]Sro  mother  alive. 
Agnes  might  have  had  it  her  own  way,  but  for  that  — ■ " 

"  We  are  not  all  angels  in  our  family,  uncle  ! "  cries  ]\Iiss 
Agnes,  reddening. 

"  And  your  mother  is  too  sharp.  The  men  are  afraid  of 
you,  Maria.  I've  heard  several  3'oung  men  say  so.  At 
White's  they  talk  about  it  quite  freel}^  Pity  for  the  girls. 
Gi-eat  pity.  Fellows  come  and  tell  me.  Jack  Hall,  and 
fellows  who  go  about  everywhere." 

'•  I'm  sure  I  don't  care  what  Captain  Hall  says  about  me 
—  odious  little  wretch  !  "  cries  Blanche. 

"  There  you  go  off  in  a  tantrum  !  Hall  never  has  any 
opinion  of  his  own.  He  only  fetches  and  carries  what  other 
people  say.  And  he  says,  fellows  say  they  are  frightened  of 
your  luother.  La  bless  you  I  Hall  has  no  opinion.  A  fellow 
might  commit  murder  and  Hall  would  wait  at  the  door. 
Quite  a  discreet  man.  But  I  told  him  to  ask  about  you. 
And  that's  what  I  hear.  And  he  says  that  Agnes  is  making 
eyes  at  the  doctor's  bo3^" 

"It's  a  shame,"  cries  Agnes,  shedding  tears  under  her 
martyrdom. 

"  Older  than  he  is  ;  but  that's  no  obstacle.  Good-looking 
boy,  I  suppose  you  don't  object  to  that  ?  Has  his  poor 
mother's  money,  and  his  father's;  must  be  well-to-do.  A 
vulgar  fellow,  but  a  clever  fellow,  and  a  determined  fellow, 
the  doctor  — and  a  fellow,  who,  I  susj^ect,  is  capable  of  any- 
thing. Shouldn't  wonder  at  that  fellow  marr^-ing  some  rich 
dowager.  Those  doctors  get  an  immense  influence  over 
women ;  and  unless  I'm  mistaken  m  my  man,  Maria,  your 
poor  sister  got  hold  of  a  —  " 


148  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

"  Uncle  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Tw}' sclen,  pointing  to  her  daughters, 
"before  these  —  "  ' 

"  Before  those  innocent  lambs  !  Hem !  Well,  I  think 
Firmin  is  of  the  wolf  sort :  "  and  the  old  noble  laughed,  and 
showed  his  own  fierce  fangs  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  grieve  to  say,  my  lord,  I  agree  with  you,"  remarks  Mr. 
Twysden.  "I  don't  think  Firmin  a  man  of  high  principle. 
A  clever  man  ?  Yes.  An  accomplished  man  ?  Yes.  A 
good  physician?  Yes.  A  prosperous  man?  Yes.  But 
what's  a  man  without  principle  ?  " 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  a  parson,  Twysden." 

"  Others  have  said  so,  my  lord.  My  poor  mother  often 
regretted  that  I  didn't  choose  the  Church.  When  I  was  at 
Cambridge  I  used  to  speak  constantly  at  the  Union.  I 
practised.  I  do  not  disguise  from  you  that  my  aim  was 
public  life.  I  am  free  to  confess  I  think  the  House  of 
Commons  would  have  been  my  sphere  ;  and,  had  my  means 
permitted,  should  certainly  come  forward." 

Lord  Bingwood  smiled  and  winked  to  his  niece  — 

'•  He  means,  my  dear,  that  he  would  like  to  wag  his  jaws 
at  my  expense,  and  that  I  should  put  him  in  for  Whipham." 

"There  are,  I  think,  worse  members  of  Parliament," 
remarked  Mr.  Twysden. 

"  If  there  w^as  a  box  of  'em  like  you,  what  a  cage  it  would 
be  !  "  roared  my  lord.  "  By  George,  I'm  sick  of  jaw.  And 
I  would  like  to  see  a  king  of  spirit  in  this  country,  who 
would  shut  up  the  talking-shops  and  gag  the  whole  chatter- 
ing crew ! " 

"  I  am  a  partisan  of  order  —  but  a  lover  of  freedom,"  con- 
tinues Twysden.  "  I  hold  that  the  balance  of  our  consti- 
tution —  " 

I  think  my  lord  Avould  have  indulged  in  a  few  of  those 
oaths  with  which  his  old-fashioned  conversation  was  liberally 
garnished ;  but  the  servant,  entering  at  this  moment,  an- 
nounces Mr.  Philip  Firmin ;  and  ever  so  faint  a  blush 
flutters  up  in  Agnes'  cheek,  w^ho  feels  that  the  old  lord's 
eye  is  upon  her. 

"  So,  sir,  I  saw  you  at  the  Opera  last  night,"  says  Lord 
Kingwood. 

"  I  saw  you,  too,"  says  downright  Phil. 

The  women  looked  terrified,  and  Twysden  scared.  The 
Twysdens  had  Lord  Kingwood's  box  sometimes.  But  there 
were  boxes  in  which  the  old  man  sat,  and  in  which  they 
never  could  see  him. 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        149 

'•  Why  don't  you  look  at  the  stage,  sir,  when  you  go  to 
the  Opera,  and  not  at  me  ?  When  you  go  to  church  jovl 
ought  to  look  at  the  parson,  oughtn't  you  ?  "  growled  the 
old  man.  '•  I"m  about  as  good  to  look  at  as  the  fellow  who 
dances  first  in  the  ballet  —  and  very  nearly  as  old.  But  if 
I  were  you,  I  should  think  looking  at  the  Ellsler  better 
fun." 

And  now  you  may  fancy  of  what  old,  old  times  we  are 
Avriting  —  times  in  which  those  horrible  old  male  dancers 
yet  existed  —  hideous  old  creatures,  wdth  low  dresses  and 
short  sleeves,  and  wreaths  of  flowers,  or  hats  and  feathers 
round  their  absurd  old  wigs  —  who  skipped  at  the  head  of 
the  ballet.  Let  us  be  thankful  that  those  old  apes  have 
almost  vanished  off  the  stage,  and  left  it  in  possession  of 
the  beauteous  bounders  of  the  other  sex.  Ah,  my  dear 
young  friends,  time  icUl  be  when  these  too  will  cease  to 
appear  more  than  mortally  beautiful !  To  Philip,  at  his  age, 
they  yet  looked  as  loveh'  as  houris.  At  this  time  the  simple 
young  fellow,  surveying  the  ballet  from  his  stall  at  the 
Opera,  mistook  carmine  for  blushes,  pearl  powder  for  native 
snows,  and  cotton-wool  for  natural  symmetry :  and  I  dare 
say  when  he  went  into  the  world  was  not  more  clear-sighted 
about  its  rouged  innocence,  its  padded  pretensions,  and  its 
painted  candor. 

Old  Lord  Kingwood  had  a  humorous  pleasure  in  petting 
and  coaxing  Philip  Pirniin  before  Philip's  relatives  of 
Beaunash  Street.  Even  the  girls  felt  a  little  plaintive 
envy  at  the  partiality  which  uncle  Eingwood  exhibited  for 
Phil ;  but  the  elder  Twysdens  and  Eingwood  Twysden, 
their  son,  writhed  with  agony  at  the  preference  which  the 
old  man  sometimes  showed  for  the  doctor's  boy.  Phil  was 
much  taller,  much  handsomer,  much  stronger,  much  better 
tempered,  and  much  richer  than  young  Twysden.  He 
would  be  the  sole  inheritor  of  his  father's  fortune,  and  had 
his  mother's  thirty  thousand  pounds.  Even  when  they 
told  him  his  father  would  marry  again,  Phil  laughed,  and 
did  not  seem  to  care —  "I  wish  him  joy  of  his  new  wife," 
was  all  he  could  be  got  to  say  :  "when  he  gets  one,  I  sup- 
pose I  shall  go  into  chambers.  Old  Parr  Street  is  not  as 
gay  as  Pall  Mall."  I  am  not  angry  with  Mrs.  Twysden 
having  a  little  jealousy  of  her  nephew.  Her  boy  and 
girls  were  the  fruit  of  a  dutiful  marriage  ;  and  Phil  was 
the  son  of  a  disobedient  child.  Her  children  were  always 
on  their  best  behavior  before  their  great  uncle  ;    and  Phil 


150  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

cared  for  him  no  more  than  for  any  other  man:  and  he 
liked  Phil  the  best.  Her  boy  was  as  humble  and  eager  to 
please  as  any  of  his  lordship's  humblest  henchmen ;  and 
Lord  Eingvvood  snapped  a*  him,  browbeat  him,  and  tram- 
pled on  the  poor  darling's  tenderest  feelings,  and  treated 
him  scarcely  better  than  a  lackey.  As  for  poor  Mr.  Twys- 
den,  my  lord  not  only  yawned  unreservedly  in  his  face  — 
that  could  not  be  helped ;  poor  Talbot's  talk  set  many  of 
his  acquaintance  asleep  —  but  laughed  at  him,  interrupted 
him,  and  told  him  to  hold  his  tongue.  On  this  day,  as  the 
family  sat  together  at  the  pleasant  hour  —  the  before- 
dinner  hour — the  fireside  and  tea-table  hour  —  Lord  Eing- 
wood  said  to  Phil  — 

"  Dine  with  me  to-day,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why  does  he  not  ask  me,  with  my  powers  of  conversa- 
tion ?  "  thought  old  Twysden  to  himself. 

''  Hang  him,  he  always  asks  that  beggar,"  writhed  young 
Twysden,  in  his  corner. 

"  Very  sorry,  sir,  can't  come.  Have  asked  some  fellows 
to  dine  at  the  '  Blue  Posts,' "  says  Phil. 

"  Confound  you,  sir,  \y\\j  don't  you  put  'em  off  ?  "  cries  the 
old  lord.     '''  You\l  put  'em  off,  Twysden,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir ! "  the  heart  of  father  and  son  both  beat. 

"  You  know  you  would  ;  and  you  quarrel  with  this  boy 
for  not  throwing  his  friends  over.  Good-night,  Firmin, 
since  you  won't  come." 

And  with  this  my  lord  was  gone. 

The  two  gentlemen  of  the  house  glumly  looked  from  the 
window,  and  saw  my  lord's  brougham  drive  swiftly  away 
in  the  rain. 

"  I  hate  your  dining  at  those  horrid  taverns,"  whispered 
a  young  lady  to  Philip. 

"It  is  better  fun  than  dining  at  home,"  Philip  remarks. 

"  You  smoke  and  drink  too  much.  You  come  home  late, 
and  you  don't  live  in  a  proper  moncle,  sir  ! "  continues  the 
young  lady. 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing.  You  must  dine  with  those  horrible  men," 
cries  Agnes ;  "  else  you  might  have  gone  to  Lady  Pendle- 
ton's to-night." 

"  I  can  throw  over  the  men  easily  enough,  if  you  wish," 
answered  the  young  man. 

"  I  ?  I  have  no  wish  of  the  sort.  Have  3'ou  not  already 
refused  uncle  Eingwood  ?  " 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        151 

^^You  are  not  Lord  Ringwood,"  saj'S  Phil,  with  a  tremor 
ill  his  voice.  '"■  I  don't  know  there  is  much  1  would  refuse 
you." 

"  You  silly  boy  !  What  do  I  ever  ask  you  to  do  that  you 
ought  to  refuse  ?  I  want  you  to  live  in  our  world,  and  not 
with  your  dreadful  wild  Oxford  and  Temple  bachelors.  I 
don't  want  you  to  sinoke.  I  want  you  to  go  into  the  world 
of  which  you  have  the  entree  —  and  you  refuse  your  uncle 
on  account  of  some  horrid  engagement  at  a  tavern  I " 

"  Shall  I  stop  here  ?  Aunt,  w^ill  you  give  me  some 
dinner  —  here?"   asks  the  young  man. 

"We  have  dined:  my  husband  and  son  dine  out,"  said 
gentle  Mrs.  Twysden. 

There  was  cold  mutton  and  tea  for  the  ladies ;  and  Mrs. 
Twysden  did  not  like  to  seat  her  nephew,  Avho  was  accus- 
tomed to  good  fare  and  high  living,  to  that  meagre  meal. 

'^  You  see  I  must  console  myself  at  the  tavern,"  Philip 
said.     "We  shall  have  a  pleasant  party  there." 

"  And  jjray  who  makes  it  ?  "  asks  the  lady. 

"There  is  Eidley  the  painter." 

"  ^[y  dear  Philip !  Do  you  know  that  his  father  was 
actually  —  " 

"  In  the  service  of  Lord  Todmorden  ?  He  often  tells  us 
so.     He  is  a  queer  character,  the  old  man." 

"  ^fr.  Ridley  is  a  man  of  genius,  certainly.  His  pictures 
aie  delicious,  and  he  goes  everywhere — but  —  but  you 
provoke  me,  Philip,  by  your  carelessness ;  indeed  you  do. 
Why  should  you  be  dining  with  the  sons  of  footmen,  when 
the  first  houses  in  the  country  might  be  open  to  you  ?  You 
pain  me,  you  foolish  boy." 

"  For  dining  in  compan}'  of  a  man  of  genius  ?  Come, 
Agnes  ! "  And  the  young  man's  brow  grew  dark.  "  Be- 
sides," he  added,  with  a  tone  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice,  which 
Miss  Agnes  did  not  like  at  all  —  "besides,  my  dear,  you 
know  he  dines  at  Lord  Pendleton's." 

"What  is  that  you  are  talking  of  Lady  Pendleton, 
children  ?  "  asked  watchful  mamma  from  her  corner. 

"  Ridley  dines  there.  He  is  going  to  dine  with  me  at  a 
tavern  to-day.  And  Lord  Hal  den  is  coming — and  Mr. 
Wlnton  is  coming  —  having  heard  of  the  famous  beef- 
steaks." 

"Winton!  Lord  Halden!  Beefsteaks!  Where?  By 
George  !  I  have  a  mind  to  go,  too  !  Where  do  you  fellows 
dine?  au  caharet?     Hang  me,  I'll  be  one,"  shrieked  little 


152  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

Twysden,  to  the  terror  of  Philip,  who  knew  his  uiiGle's 
awful  powers  of  eonversation.  But  Twysden  remembered 
himself  in  good  time,  and  to  the  intense  relief  of  young 
Eirniin.  "  Hang  me,  I  forgot !  Your  aunt  and  T  dine  with 
the  Bladeses.  Stupid  old  fellow,  the  admiral,  and  bad 
wine — which  is  unpardonable;  but  we  must  go  —  on  ii'a 
que  sa  parole,  hey  ?  Tell  Winton  that  I  had  meditated 
joining  him,  and  that  I  have  still  some  of  that  ChAteau 
i\Iargaux  he  liked.  Maiden's  father  I  know  well.  Tell  him 
so.  Bring  him  here.  Maria,  send  a  Thursday  card  to 
Lord  Halden !  You  must  bring  him  here  to  dinner,  Philip. 
Thafs  the  best  way  to  make  acquaintance,  my  boy  !  "  And 
the  little  man  swaggers  off,  waving  a  bed-candle,  as  if  he 
was  going  to  quaff  a  bumper  of  sparkling  spermaceti. 

The  mention  of  such  great  personages  as  Lord  Halden 
and  Mr.  Winton  silenced  the  reproofs  of  the  pensive  Agnes. 

"  You  M'on't  care  for  our  quiet  fireside  whilst  you  live 
with  those  fine  people,  Philip,"  she  sighed.  There  was  no 
talk  now  of  his  throwing  himself  away  on  bad  company. 

So  Philip  did  not  dine  Avith  his  relatives :  but  Talbot 
Twysden  took  good  care  to  let  Lord  Eingwood  know  how 
young  Firmin  had  offered  to  dine  with  his  aunt  that  day 
after  refusing  his  lordship.  And  everything  to  Phil's  dis- 
credit, and  every  act  of  extravagance  or  wildness  which  the 
young  man  committed,  did  Phil's  uncle,  and  Phil's  cousin 
Kingwood  Twysden,  convey  to  the  old  nobleman.  Had 
not  these  been  the  inform^ers.  Lord  Eingwood  would  have 
been  angr}^ :  for  he  exacted  obedience  and  servility  from  all 
round  about  him.  But  it  w-as  pleasanter  to  vex  the  Twys- 
dens  than  to  scold  and  browbeat  Philip,  and  so  his  lordshi]) 
chose  to  laugh  and  be  amused  at  Phil's  insubordination. 
He  saw,  too,  other  things  of  which  he  did  not  speak.  He 
was  a  wily  old  man,  who  could  afford  to  be  blind  upon 
occasion. 

What  do  you  judge  from  the  fact  that  Philip  was  ready 
to  make  or  break  engagements  at  a  young  lady's  instiga- 
tion ?  When  you  were  twenty  years  old,  had  no  young 
ladies  an  influence  over  you?  Were  the}^  not  commonly 
older  than  yourself  ?  Pid  your  youthful  passion  lead  to 
anything,  and  are  you  very  sorry  now  that  it  did  not '/ 
Suppose  you  had  had  your  soul's  wish  and  married  her,  of 
wliat  age  would  she  be  now  ?  And  now  when  you  go  into 
the  world  and  see  her,  do  you  on  j^our  conscience  very 
much  regret  that  the  little  affair  came  to  an  end  ?     Is  it 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        153 

that  (lean,  or  fat,  or  stumj:)}',  or  tall)  woman  with  all  those 
children  whom  you  once  chose  to  break  your  heart  about ; 
and  do  you  still  envy  Jones  ?  Philip  was  in  love  with  his 
cousin,  no  doubt,  but  at  the  university  had  he  not  been 
previously  in  love  with  the  Tomkinsian  professor's  daughter 
Miss  Budd ;  and  had  he  not  already  written  verses  to  Miss 
Flower,  his  neighbor's  daughter  in  Old  Parr  Street  ?  And 
don't  young  men  always  begin  by  falling  in  love  with 
ladies  older  than  themselves  ?  Agnes  certainly  was 
Philip's  senior,  as  her  sister  constantly  took  care  to  inform 
him. 

And  Agnes  might  have  told  stories  about  Blanche,  if  she 
chose  —  as  you  may  about  me,  and  I  about  you.  Not  quite 
true  stories,  but  stories  with  enough  alloy  of  lies  to  make 
them  serviceable  coin  ;  stories  such  as  we  hear  daily  in  the 
world ;  stories  such  as  we  read  in  the  most  learned  and 
conscientious  history-books,  which  are  told  by  the  most 
respectable  persons,  and  perfectly  authentic  until  contra- 
dicted. It  is  only  our  histories  that  can't  be  contradicted 
(unless,  to  be  sure,  novelists  contradict  themselves,  as 
sometimes  they  will).  What  lue  say  about  people's  virtues, 
failings,  characters,  you  ma}'  be  sure  is  all  true.  And  I 
defy  any  man  to  assert  that  my  opinion  of  the  Twysden 
family  is  malicious,  or  unkind,  or  unfounded  in  any  partic- 
ular. Agnes  wrote  verses,  and  set  her  own  and  other 
writers'  poems  to  music.  Blanche  was  scientific,  and 
attended  the  Albemarle  Street  lectures  sedulously.  They 
are  both  clever  women  as  times  go ;  well  educated  and 
accomplished,  and  very  well  mannered  when  they  choose  to 
be  pleasant.  If  you  were  a  bachelor,  say,  with  a  good 
fortune,  or  a  widower  who  wanted  consolation,  or  a  lady 
giving  very  good  parties  and  belonging  to  the  w,onde,  you 
would  find  them  agreeable  people.  If  you  were  a  little 
Treasury  clerk,  or  a  young  barrister  with  no  practice,  or  a 
lady,  old  or  young,  not  quite  of  the  monde,  your  opinion  of 
them  would  not  be  so  favorable.  I  have  seen  them  cut,  and 
scorn,  and  avoid,  and  caress,  and  kneel  down  and  worshij) 
the  same  person.  When  Mrs.  Lovel  first  gave  parties,- 
don't  I  remember  the  shocked  countenances  of  the  Twysden 
family  ?  Were  ever  shoulders  colder  than  yours,  dear 
girls  ?  Xow  they  love  her ;  they  fondle  her  step-children  ; 
they  praise  her  to  her  face  and  behind  her  handsome  back ; 
they  take  her  hand  in  public ;  they  call  her  by  her  Chris- 
tian name ;  they  fall  into  ecstasies  over  her  toilets,  and 


154  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

would  fetch  coals  for  her  dressing-room  fire  if  she  but  gave 
them  the  word.  She  is  not  changed.  She  is  the  same  lady 
who  once  was  a  governess,  and  no  colder  and  no  warmer 
since  then.  But  you  see  her  prosperity  has  brought 
virtues  into  evidence  which  people  did  not  perceive  when 
she  was  poor.  Could  people  see  Cinderella's  beauty  when 
she  was  in  rags  by  the  fire,  or  until  she  stepped  out  of  her 
fairy  coach  in  her  diamonds  ?  How  are  you  to  recognize 
a  diamond  in  a  dusthole  ?  Only  very  clever  eyes  can  do 
that.  AVhereas  a  lady  in  a  fairy  coach  and  eight  naturally 
creates  a  sensation ;  and  enraptured  princes  come  and  beg 
to  have  the  honor  of  dancing  with  her. 

In  the  character  of  infallible  historian,  then,  I  declare 
that  if  Miss  Twysden  at  three-and-twenty  feels  ever  so  much 
or  little  attacliment  for  her  cousin,  who  is  not  yet  of  age, 
there  is  no  reason  to  be  angry  with  her.  A  brave,  hand- 
some, blundering,  downright  young  fellow,  with  broad  shoul- 
ders, high  spirits,  and  quite  fresh  blushes  on  his  face,  with 
very  good  talents  (though  he  has  been  wofully  idle,  and  re- 
quested to  absent  himself  temporarily  from  his  university), 
the  possessor  of  a  competent  fortune  and  the  heir  of  another, 
may  naturally  make  some  impression  on  a  lady's  heart  with 
whom  kinsmanship  and  circumstance  bring  him  into  daily 
communion.  When  had  any  sound  so  hearty  as  Phil's 
laugh  been  heard  in  Beaunash  Street  ?  His  jolly  frankness 
touched  his  aunt,  a  clever  woman.  She  would  smile  and  say, 
"  My  dear  Philip,  it  is  not  only  what  you  say,  but  what  you 
are  going  to  say  next,  which  keeps  me  in  such  a  perpetual 
tremor."  There  may  have  been  a  time  once  when  she  was 
frank  and  cordial  herself:  ever  so  long  ago,  when  she  and 
her  sister  were  two  blooming  girls,  lovingly  clinging  to- 
gether, and  just  stepping  forth  into  the  world.  But  if  you 
succeed  in  keeping  a  fine  house  on  a  small  income;  in  show- 
ing a  cheerful  face  to  the  world  though  oppressed  with  ever 
so  much  care ;  in  bearing  with  dutiful  reverence  an  intoler- 
able old  bore  of  a  husband  (and  I  vow  it  is  this  quality  in 
Mrs.  Twysden  for  which  I  most  admire  her) ;  in  submitting 
to  defeats  patiently ;  to  humiliations  with  smiles,  so  as  to 
hold  your  own  in  your  darling  monde ;  you  may  succeed, 
but  you  must  give  up  being  frank  and  cordial.  The  mar- 
riage of  her  sister  to  the  doctor  gave  Maria  Kingwood  a 
great  panic,  for  Lord  Eingwood  was  furious  when  the  news 
came.  Then,  perhaps,  she  sacrificed  a  little  private  passion 
of  her  own :  then  she  set  her  cap  at  a  noble  young  neighbor 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        155 

of  my  lord's  who  jilted  her;  then  she  took  up  with  Talbot 
Twysden,  Esquire,  of  the  Powder  aud  Pomatum  OlRce,  and 
made  a  very  faithful  wife  to  him,  and  was  a  very  careful 
mother  to  his  children.  But  as  for  frankness  and  cordial- 
ity, my  good  friend,  accept  from  a  lady  what  she  can  give 
you  —  good  manners,  pleasant  talk,  and  decent  attention. 
If  you  go  to  her  breakfast-table,  don't  ask  for  a  roc's  egg, 
but  eat  that  moderately  fresh  hen's  egg  which  John  brings 
you.  When  Mrs.  Twysden  is  in  her  open  carriage  in  the 
Park,  how  prosperous,  handsome,  and  jolly  she  looks  —  the 
girls  how  smiling  and  young  (that  is,  you  know,  considering 
all  things) ;  the  horses  look  fat,  the  coachman  and  footman 
wealthy  and  sleek;  they  exchange  bows  with  the  tenants  of 
other  carriages  —  well-known  aristocrats.  Jones  and  Brown, 
leaning  over  the  railings,  and  seeing  the  Twysden  equipage 
pass,  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  it  contains  people  of 
the  highest  wealth  and  fashion.  "  I  say,  Jones;  my  boy, 
what  noble  family  has  the  motto,  Wei  done  Tivya  done?  and 
Avhat  clipping  girls  there  were  in  that  barouche ! "  B.  re- 
marks to  J.,  "And  what  a  handsome  young  swell  that  is 
riding  the  bay  mare,  and  leaning  over  and  talking  to  the 
yellow-haired  girl !"  And  it  is  evident  to  one  of  those  gen- 
tlemen, at  least,  that  he  has  been  looking  at  your  regular 
hrst-rate,  tii)-top  people. 

As  for  Phil  Firmin  on  his  T)ay  mare,  with  his  geranium 
in  his  button-hole,  there  is  no  doubt  that  Philippus  looks  as 
handsome,  and  as  rich,  and  as  brave  as  an}'  lord.  And  I 
think  Brown  must  have  felt  a  little  pang  when  his  friend 
told  him,  "  That  a  lord !  Bless  you,  it's  only  a  swell  doc- 
tor's son."  But  while  J.  and  B.  fancy  all  the  little  party 
very  happy,  they  do  not  hear  Phil  whisper  to  his  cousin,  "I 
hope  you  liked  your  partner  last  night  ?  "  and  they  do  not 
see  how  anxious  Mrs.  Twysden  is  under  her  smiles,  how  she 
perceives  Colonel  Shafto's  cab  coming  up  (the  dancer  in 
question),  and  how  she  would  rather  have  Phil  anywhere 
than  by  that  particular  wheel  of  her  carriage ;  how  Lady 
Braglaiids  has  just  passed  them  by  without  noticing  them 
—  Lady  Braglands,  who  has  a  ball,  and  is  determined  not  to 
ask  that  woman  and  her  two  endless  girls ;  and  how,  though 
Lady  Braglands  won't  see  ]Mrs.  Twysden  in  her  great  star- 
ing equipage,  and  the  three  faces  Avhich  have  been  beaming 
smiles  at  her,  she  instantly  perceives  Lady  Lovel,  who  is 
passing  ensconced  in  her  little  brougham,  and  kisses  her  fin- 
gers twenty  times  over.     How  should  poor  J.  and  B.,  who 


156  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 

are  not,  voas  comjyrenez,  du  vionde,  understand  these  myste- 
ries ? 

"That's  young  Firniin,  is  it,  that  handsome  young 
fellow  ?  "  says  Brown  to  Jones. 

"  Doctor  married  the  Earl  of  Ringwood's  niece  —  ran 
away  with  her,  you  know." 

"  Good  practice  ?  " 

"Capital.  First-rate.  All  the  tip-top  people.  Great 
ladies'  doctor.  Can't  do  without  him.  Makes  a  fortune 
besides  what  he  had  with  his  wife." 

"We've  seen  his  name  —  the  old  man's  —  on  some  very 
queer  paper,"  says  B.  with  a  wink  to  J.  By  which  I  coi?- 
chide  they  are  city  gentlemen.  And  they  look  very  hard  at 
friend  Philip,  as  he  comes  to  talk  and  shake  hands  with 
some  pedest^i-ians  who  are  gazing  over  the  railings  at  the 
busy  and  pleasant  Park  scene. 


CHAPTEE  Y. 

THE    NOBLE    KINSMAN. 


AVIiSTG  had  occasion  to 
mention  a  noble  earl  once 
or  twice,  I  am  sure  no 
polite  reader  will  consent 
that  his  lordship  should 
push  through  this  history 
along  wdth  the  crowd  of 
commoner  characters,  and 
without  a  special  word  re- 
garding himself.  If  you 
are  in  the  least  familiar 
with  Burke  or  Debrett, 
you  know  that  the  ancient 
family  of  Kingwood  has 
long  been  famous  for  its 
great  possessions,  and  its 
loyalty  to  the  British 
crown. 

In  the  troubles  which 
unhap})ily  agitated  this 
kingdom  after  the  deposi- 
tion of  the  late  reigning 
house,  the  Kingwoods  were 
implicated  with  many  other 
families,  but  on  the  accession  of  his  ^lajesty  George  III. 
these  differences  happily  ended,  nor  had  the  monarch  any 
subject  more  loyal  and  devoted  than  Sir  John  Ringwood, 
Baronet,  of  Wingate  and  Whipham  ^Market.  Sir  John's  in- 
fluence sent  three  Members  to  Parliament ;  and  during  the 
dangerous  and  vexatious  period  of  the  American  war,  this 
influence  was  exerted  so  cordially  and  consistently  in  the 
cause  of  order  and  the  crown,  that  his  ^lajesty  thought  fit 
to  advance  Sir  John  to  the  dignity  of  Baron  Ringwood. 
Sir  John's  brother,  Sir  Francis  Ringwood,  of  Appleshaw, 

157 


158  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

who  followed  the  profession  of  the  law,  also  was  promoted 
to  be  a  Baron  of  his  Majesty's  Court  of  Exchequer.  The 
first  baron,  dying  a.  n.  1786,  was  succeeded  by  the  eldest  of 
his  two  sons  —  John,  second  Baron  and  first  Earl  of  King- 
wood.  His  lordship's  brother,  the  Honorable  Colonel 
Philip  Ringwood,  died  gloriously,  ot  the  head  of  his  regi- 
ment and  in  the  defence  of  his  country,  in  the  battle  of 
Busaco,  1810,  leaving  two  daughters,  Louisa  and  Maria, 
who  henceforth  lived'  with  the  earl  their  uncle. 

The  Earl  of  Eingwood  had  but  one  son,  Charles  Viscount 
Cinqbars,  who,  unhappily,  died  of  a  decline,  in  his  twenty- 
se(;ond  year.  And  thus  the  descendants  of  Sir  Francis  Ring- 
wood  became  heirs  to  the  earl's  great  estates  of  Wingate 
and  Whipham  IMarket,  though  not  of  the  peerages  which 
had  been  conferred  on  the  earl  and  his  father. 

Lord  Ringwood  had,  living  with  him,  two  nieces,  daugh- 
ters of  his  late  brother.  Colonel  Philip  Ringwood,  who  fell 
in  the  Peninsular  War.  Of  these  ladies,  the  youngest, 
Louisa,  was  his  lordship's  favorite  ;  and  though  both  the 
ladies  had  considerable  fortunes  of  their  own,  it  was  sup- 
posed their  uncle  would  further  provide  for  them,  especially 
as  he  was  on  no  very  good  terms  with  his  cousin,  Sir  John 
of  the  Shaw,  who  took  the  Whig  side  in  politics,  whilst  his 
lordship  was  a  chief  of  the  Tory  party. 

Of  these  two  nieces,  the  eldest,  Maria,  never  any  great 
favorite  with  her  uncle,  married,  1824,  Talbot  Twysden, 
Esq.,  a  Commissioner  of  Powder  and  Pomatum  Tax  5  but 
the  youngest,  Louisa,  incurred  my  lord's  most  serious  anger 
by  eloping  with  George  Brand  Eirmin,  Esq.,  M.D.,  a  young 
gentleman  of  Cambridge  University,  who  had  been  with 
Lord  Cinqbars  when  he  died  at  Naples,  and  had  brought 
home  his  body  to  Wingate  Castle. 

The  quarrel  with  the  youngest  niece,  and  the  indifference 
with  which  he  generally  regarded  the  elder  (whom  his 
lordship  was  in  the  habit  of  calling  an  old  schemer),  occa- 
sioned at  first  a  little  rapijrochement  between  Lord  Ring- 
wood  and  his  heir,  Sir  John  of  Appleshaw  ;  but  both  gen- 
tlemen were  very  firm,  not  to  say  obstinate,  in  their  natures. 
They  had  a  quarrel  with  respect  to  the  cutting  oft"  of  a 
small  entailed  property,  of  which  the  earl  wished  to  dis- 
Dose  ;  and  they  parted  with  much  rancor  and  bad  language 
on  his  lordship's  part,  who  was  an  especially  free-spoken 
nobleman,  and  apt  to  call  a  spade  a  spade,  as  the  saying  is. 

After  this  difference,  and  to  spite  his  heir,  it  was  sup- 


ox  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        159 

posed  that  the  Earl  of  Hiiigwood  woukl  iiiariy.  He  was 
little  more  than  seventy  years  of  age,  and  had  once  been  of 
a  very  robust  constitution.  And  though  his  temper  was 
violent  and  his  person  not  at  all  agreeable  (for  even  in  Sir 
Thomas  Lawrence's  picture  his  countenance  is  very  ill- 
favored),  there  is  little  doubt  he  could  have  found  a  wife 
for  the  asking  among  the  young  beauties  of  his  own  county, 
or  the  fairest  of  May  Fair. 

But  he  was  a  cynical  nobleman,  and  perhaps  morbidly  con- 
scious of  his  own  ungainly  appearance.  ''  Of  course  T  can 
buy  a  wife"  (his  lordship  would  say).  "Do  you  suppose 
p3ople  won't  sell  their  daughters  to  a  man  of  my  rank  and 
msans  ?  Now  look  at  me,  my  good  sir,  and  say  whether 
any  woman  alive  could  fall  in  love  with  me  ?  I  have  been 
married,  and  once  was  enough.  I  hate  ugly  women,  and 
3'our  virtuous  women,  who  tremble  and  cry  in  private,  and 
preach  at  a  man,  bore  me.  Sir  John  Ringwood  of  Apple- 
shaw  is  an  ass,  and  I  hate  him  :  but  I  don't  hate  him 
enough  to  make  myself  miserable  for  the  rest  of  my  days, 
in  order  to  spite  him.  When  I  drop,  I  drop.  Do  you  sup- 
pose I  care  what  com3s  after  me  ?  "  And  with  much  sar- 
donical  humor  this  old  lord  used  to  play  off  one  good 
dowager  after  another  who  would  bring  her  girl  in  his  way. 
He  would  send  pearls  to  Emily,  diamonds  to  Fanny,  opera- 
boxes  to  lively  Kate,  books  of  devotion  to  pious  Selinda, 
and,  at  the  season's  end,  drive  back  to  his  lonely  great  castle 
in  the  west.  They  were  all  the  same,  such  was  his  lord- 
ship's opinion.  I  fear,  a  wicked  and  corrupt  old  gentleman, 
my  dears.  But  ah,  Avould  not  a  woman  submit  to  some 
sacrifices  to  reclaim  that  unhappy  man ;  to  lead  that  gifted 
but  lost  being  into  the  ways  of  right ;  to  convert  to  a  belief 
in  woman's  purity  that  erring  soul  ?  They  tried  him  with 
high-church  altar-cloths  for  his  chapel  at  Wingate ;  they 
tried  him  with  low-church  tracts  ;  they  danced  before  him  ; 
they  jumped  fences  on  horseback  ;  they  wore  bandeaux  or 
ringlets,  according  as  his  taste  dictated ;  they  were  always 
at  home  when  he  called,  and  poor  you  and  I  were  gruffly 
told  they  were  engaged  ;  they  gushed  in  gratitude  over  his 
bouquets ;  they  sang  for  him,  and  their  mothers,  concealing 
their  sobs,  murmured,  ''  What  an  angel  that  Cecilia  of  mine 
is ! "  Every  variety  of  delicious  chaff  they  flung  to  that 
old  bird.  But  he  was  uncaught  at  the  end  of  the  season : 
he  winged  his  way  back  to  his  western  hills.  And  if  you 
dared  to  say  that  jNIrs.  Netley  had  tried  to  take  him,  or 


IGO  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

Lady  Trapboys  had  set  a  snare  for  liini,  you  know  you  were 
a  wicked,  gross  calumniator,  and  notorious  everywhere  for 
your  dull  and  vulgar  abuse  of  women. 

Now,  in  the  year  1830,  it  happened  that  this  great  noble- 
man Avas  seized  with  a  tit  of  the  gout,  which  had  very  nearly 
consigned  his  estates  to  his  kinsman  the  Baronet  of  Apple- 
shaw.  A  revolution  took  place  in  a  neighboring  State. 
An  illustrious  reigning  family  was  expelled  from  its  coun- 
try, and  projects  of  reform  (which  would  pretty  certainly 
end  in  revolution)  were  rife  in  ours.  The  events  in  France, 
and  those  pending  at  home,  so  agitated  Lord  Eingwood's 
mind  that  he  was  attacked  by  one  of  the  severest  fits  of 
gout  under  which  he  ever  suffered.  His  shrieks,  as  he  was 
brought  out  of  his  yacht  at  Ryde  to  a  house  taken  for  him 
in  tiie  town,  were  dreadful;  his  language  to  all  persons 
about  him  was  frightfully  expressive,  as  Lady  Quamley  and 
her  daughter,  who  had  sailed  with  him  several  times,  can 
vouch.  An  ill  return  that  rude  old  man  made  for  all  their 
kindness  and  attention  to  him.  They  had  danced  on  board 
his  yacht ;  they  had  dined  on  board  his  yacht ;  they  had 
been  out  sailing  with  him,  and  -cheerfully  braved  the  incon- 
veniences of  the  deep  in  his  company.  And  when  they  ran 
to  the  side  of  his  chair  —  as  what  would  they  not  do  to 
soothe  an  old  gentleman  in  illness  and  distress  ?  —  when 
they  ran  up  to  his  chair  as  it  w^as  wheeled  along  the  pier, 
he  called  mother  and  daughter  by  the  most  vulgar  and 
opprobrious  names,  and  roared  out  to  them  to  go  to  a  place 
which  I  certainly  shall  not  more  particularly  mention. 

Now  it  happened,  at  this  period,  that  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Fir- 
min  were  at  Eyde  with  their  little  boy,  then  some  three 
years  of  age.  The  doctor  was  already  taking  his  place  as 
one  of  the  most  fashionable  physicians  then  in  London, 
and  had  begun  to  be  celebrated  for  the  treatment  of  this 
especial  malady.  (Firmin  on  "  Gout  and  Eheumatism  -' 
was,  you  remember,  dedicated  to  his  Majesty  George  lY.) 
Lord' Eingwood's  valet  bethought  him  of  calling  the  doctor 
in,  and  mentioned  how  he  was  present  in  the  town.  Xow 
Lord  Eingwood  was  a  nobleman  who  never  would  allow  his 
angry  feelings  to  stand  in  the  way  of  his  present  comforts 
or  ease.  He  instantly  desired  Mr.  Firmin's  attendance,  and 
submitted  to  his  treatment ;  a  part  of  which  was  a  hauteur 
to  the  full  as  great  as  that  which  the  sick  man  exhibited. 
Firmin's  appearance  was  so  tall  and  grand  that  he  looked 
vastlv  more  noble  than  a  great  many  noblemen.     Six  feet, 


ON  HIS    WA  Y  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        IGl 

a  high  manner,  a  polished  forehead,  a  flashing  eye,  a  snowy 
shirt-frill,  a  rolling  velvet  collar,  a  beautiful  hand  appear- 
ing under  a  velvet  cuif  —  all  these  advantages  he  possessed 
and  used.  He  did  not  make  the  slightest  allusion  to  hy- 
gones,  but  treated  his  patient  with  a  perfect  courtesy  and 
an  impenetrable  self-^^ossession. 

This  defiant  and  darkling  politeness  did  not  always  dis- 
please the  old  man.  He  was  so  accustomed  to  slavish  com- 
pliance and  eager  obedience  from  all  the  people  round  about 
him,  that  he  sometimes  wearied  of  their  servility,  and 
relished  a  little  independence.  AVas  it  from  calculation,  or 
because  he  was  a  man  of  high  spirit,  that  Firmin  determined 
to  maintain  an  independent  course  with  his  lordship  ?  From 
the  first  day  of  their  meeting  he  never  departed  from  it, 
and  had  the  satisfaction  of  meeting  wdth  only  civil  behavior 
from  his  noble  relative  and  patient,  who  was  notorious  for 
his  rudeness  and  brutality  to  almost  every  person  who  came 
in  his  way. 

From  hints  which  his  lordship  gave  in  conversation,  he 
showed  the  doctor  that  he  was  acquainted  with  some  par- 
ticulars of  the  latter's  early  career.  It  had  been  wild  and 
stormy.  Firmin  had  incurred  debts  ;  had  quarrelled  with  his 
father ;  had  left  the  university  and  gone  abroad  ;  had  lived 
in  a  wild  society,  which  used  dice  and  cards  every  night,  and 
pistols  sometimes  in  the  morning  ;  and  had  shown  a  fearful 
dexterity  in  the  use  of  the  latter  instrument,  which  he  em- 
ployed against  the  person  of  a  famous  Italian  adventurer, 
who  fell  under  his  hand  at  Naples.  When  this  century 
was  five-and-twenty  years  younger,  the  crack  of  the  pistol- 
shot  might  still  occasionally  be  heard  in  the  suburbs  of 
London  in  the  very  early  morning ;  and  the  dice-box  went 
round  in  many  a  haunt  of  pleasure.  The  knights  of  the 
Four  Kings  travelled  from  capital  to  capital,  and  engaged 
each  other  or  made  prey  of  the  unwary.  Xow,  the  times 
are  changed.  The  cards  are  coffined  in  their  boxes.  Only 
sous-officlers,  brawling  in  their  provincial  cafes  over  their 
dominos,  fight  duels.  "  Ah,  dear  me,"  I  heard  a  veteran 
])unter  sigh  the  other  day  at  Bays's,  "isn't  it  a  melancholy 
thing  to  think,  that  if  I  wanted  to  amuse  myself  with  a 
fifty-pound  note,  I  don't  know  the  place  in  London  where  I 
could  go  and  lose  it  ?  "  And  he  fondly  recounted  the  names 
of  twenty  places  where  he  could  have  cheerfully  staked  and 
lost  his  money  in  his  young  time. 

After  a  somewhat  prolonged  absence  abroad,  Mr.  Fii-min 

VOL.    I.  11 


162  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

came  back  to  this  country,  was  permitted  to  return  to  the 
university,  and  left  it  with  a  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Medi- 
cine. We  have  told  how  he  ran  away  with  Lord  Ring- 
wood's  niece,  and  incurred  the  anger  of  that  nobleman. 
Beyond  abuse  and  anger  his  lordship  was  powerless.  The 
young  lady  was  free  to  marry  whom  she  liked,  and  her 
uncle  to  disown  or  receive  him  ;  and  accordingly  she  was, 
as  we  have  seen,  disowned  by  his  lordship,  until  he  found  it 
convenient  to  forgive  her.  What  were  Lord  Eingwood's 
intentions  regarding  his  property,  what  were  his  accumula- 
tions, and  who  his  heirs  would  be,  no  one  knew.  Mean- 
while, of  course,  there  were  those  who  felt  a  very  great 
interest  on  the  point.  Mrs.  Twysden  and  her  husband  and 
children  were  hungry  and  poor.  If  uncle  Ringwood  had 
money  to  leave,  it  would  be  very  welcome  to  those  three 
darlings,  whose  father  had  not  a  great  income  like  Dr.  Fir- 
min.  Philip  was  a  dear,  good,  frank,  amiable,  wild  fellow, 
and  they  all  loved  him.  But  he  had  his  faults  — that  could 
not  be  concealed  —  and  so  poor  Phil's  faults  were  pretty 
constantly  canvassed  before  uncle  Ringwood,  by  dear  rela- 
tives who  knew  them  only  too  well.  The  dear  relatives ! 
How  kind  they  are  !  I  don't  think  Phil's  aunt  abused  him 
to  my  lord.  That  quiet  woman  calmly  and  gently  put  for- 
ward the  claims  of  her  own  darlings,  and  affectionately 
dilated  on  the  young  man's  present  prosperity,  and  magnifi- 
cent future  prospects.  The  interest  of  thirty  thousand 
pounds  now,  and  the  inheritance  of  his  father's  great  ac- 
cumulations !  What  young  man  could  want  for  more  ? 
Perhaps  he  had  too  much  already.  Perhaps  he  was  too 
rich  to  work.  The  sly  old  peer  acquiesced  in  his  niece's 
statements,  and  perfectly  understood  the  point  towards 
which  they  tended.  "  A  thousand  a  year  !  What's  a  thou- 
sand a  year?"  growled  the  old  lord.  "Not  enough  to 
make  a  gentleman,  more  than  enough  to  make  a  fellow 
idle." 

"  Ah,  indeed,  it  was  but  a  small  income,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Twysden.  "  With  a  large  house,  a  good  establishment,  and 
Mr.  Twysden's  salary  from  his  office  —  it  was  but  a  pit- 
tance." 

"  Pittance  !  Starvation,"  growls  my  lord,  with  his  usual 
frankness.  "  Don't  I  know  Avhat  housekeeping  costs  ;  and 
see  how  you  screw  ?  Butlers  and  footmen,  carriages  and 
job-horses,  rent  and  dinners  —  tliough  yours,  Maria,  are  not 
famous." 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        163 

"Very  bad — I  know  they  are  very  bad,"  saj's  the  con- 
trite lady.     "  I  wish  we  coukl  afford  any  better." 

"  Afford  any  better  ?  Of  course  you  can't.  You  are  the 
crockery  pots,  and  you  swim  down-stream  with  the  brass 
pots.  I  saw  Twysden  the  other  day  walking  down  St. 
James's  Street  with  Rhodes  —  that  tall  fellow."  (Here 
my  lord  laughed,  and  showed  many  fangs,  the  exhibition 
of  which  gave  a  peculiarly  fierce  air  to  his  lordship  when 
in  good-humor).  "  If  Twysden  walks  with  a  big  fellow, 
he  always  tries  to  keep  step  with  him.  You  know  that." 
Poor  Maria  naturally  knew  her  husband's  peculiarities ; 
but  she  did  not  say  that  slie  had  no  need  to  be  reminded 
of  them. 

"He  was  so  blown  he  could  hardly  speak,"  continued 
uncle  Eingwood ;  "  but  he  would  stretch  his  little  legs,  and 
try  and  keep  up.  He  has  a  little  body,  le  cher  mari,  but 
a  good  pluck.  Those  little  fellows  often  have.  I'v3  seen 
him  half  dead  out  shooting,  and  plunging  over  the 
ploughed  fields  after  fellows  with  twice  his  stride.  Why 
don't  men  sink  in  the  world,  I  want  to  know  ?  Instead  of 
a  fine  house,  and  a  j^arcel  of  idle  servants,  why  don't  j^ou 
have  a  maid  and  a  leg  of  mutton,  jMaria  ?  You  go  half 
crazy  in  trying  to  make  both  ends  meet.  You  know  you 
do.  It  keeps  you  awake  of  nights  ;  /  know  that  very  well. 
You've  got  a  house  fit  for  people  with  four  times  your 
money.  I  lend  you  my  cook  and  so  forth;  but  I  can't 
come  and  dine  with  you  unless  I  send  the  wine  in.  Why 
don't  you  have  a  pot  of  porter,  and  a  joint,  or  some  tripe? 
—  tripe's  a  famous  good  thing.  The  miseries  which  people 
entail  on  themselves  in  trying  to  live  beyond  their  means 
are  perfectly  ridiculous,  by  George !  Look  at  that  fellow 
who  opened  the  door  to  me ;  he's  as  tall  as  one  of  my  own 
men.  Go  and  live  in  a  quiet  little  street  in  Belgravia 
somewhere,  and  have  a  neat  little  maid.  Kobody  will 
think  a  penny  the  worse  of  you  —  and  you  will  be  just  as 
well  off  as  if  you  lived  here  with  an  extra  couple  of  thou- 
sand a  year.  The  advice  I  am  giving  you  is  worth  half 
that,  every  shilling  of  it." 

"It  is  very  good  advice ;  but  I  think,  sir,  I  should  prefer 
the  thousand  pounds,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Of  course  you  would.  That  is  the  consequence  of  your 
false  position.  One  of  the  good  points  about  that  doctor 
is,  that  he  is  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  and  so  is  his  boy.  They 
are  not  always  hungering  after  money.     They  keep  their 


1C4  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

independence;  though  hell  have  his  own  too,  the  fellow 
will.  Why,  when  1  first  called  him  in,  I  thought,  as  he 
was  a  relation,  he'd  doctor  me  for  nothing;  but  he 
wouldn't.  He  would  have  his  fee,  by  George  I  and 
wouldn't  come  without  it.  Confounded  independent  fellow 
Firmin  is.     And  so  is  the  young  one." 

But  when  Twysden  and  his  son  (perhaps  inspirited  by 
.Mrs.  Twysden)  tried  once  or  twice  to  be  independent  in 
the  presence  of  this  lion,  he  roared,  and  he  rushed  at  them, 
and  he  rent  them,  so  that  they  fled  from  him  howling. 
And  this  reminds  me  of  an  old  story  I  have  heard  —  quite 
an  old,  old  story,  such  as  kind  old  fellows  at  clubs  love  to 
remember  —  of  my  lord,  when  he  was  only  Lord  Cinqbars, 
insulting  a  half-pay  lieutenant,  in  his  own  county,  who 
horsewhipped  his  lordship  in  the  most  private  and  fero- 
cious manner.  It  was  said  Lord  Cinqbars  had  had  a  rencon- 
tre with  poachers;  but  it  was  my  lord  who  was.  poaching 
and  the  lieutenant  who  was  defending  his  own  dovecot.  I 
do  net  say  that  this  was  a  model  nobleman  ;  but  that,  when 
his  ow^n  passions  or  interests  did  not  mislead  him,  he  was  a 
nobleman  of  very  considerable  acuteness,  humor,  and  good 
sense  ;  and  could  give  quite  good  advice  on  occasion.  If 
men  would  kneel  down  and  kiss  his  boots,  well  and  good. 
There  was  the  blacking,  and  you  were  welcome  to  embrace 
toe  and  heel.  But  those  wdio  Avould  not,  were  free  to  leave 
the  operation  alone.  The  Pope  himself  does  not  demand 
the  ceremony  from  Protestants ;  and  if  they  object  to  the 
slipper,  no  one  thinks  of  forcing  it  into  their  mouths.  Phil 
and  his  father  probably  declined  to  tremble  before  the  old 
man,  not  because  they  knew  he  was  a  bully  who  might  be 
put  down,  but  because  they  were  men  of  spirit,  who  cared 
not  whether  a  man  was  bully  or  no. 

I  have  told  joii  1  like  Philip  Pirmin,  though  it  must  be 
confessed  that  the  young  fellow  had  many  faults,  and  that 
his  career,  especially  his  early  career,  was  by  no  means 
exemplary.  Have  I  ever  excused  his  conduct  to  his  father, 
or  said  a  word  in  apology  of  his  brief  and  inglorious  univer- 
sity career  ?  I  acknowledge  his  shortcomings  with  that 
candor  which  my  friends  exhibit  in  speaking  of  mine. 
Who  does  not  see  a  friend's  weaknesses,  and  is  so  blind 
that  he  cannot  perceive  that  enormous  beam  in  his  neigh- 
bor's eye  ?  Only  a  woman  or  two,  from  time  to  time. 
And  even  they  are  nndeceived  some  day.  A  man  of  the 
world,  I  write  about  my  friends  as  mundane  fellow-crea- 


Oy  HIS    WAY  THROUGH  THE    WORLD.        165 

hires.  Do  you  suppose  there  are  many  angels  here  ?  I 
say  again,  perhaps  a  woman  or  two.  But  as  for  you  and 
me,  my  good  sir,  are  there  any  signs  of  wings  sprouting 
from  our  shoulder-blades  ?  Be  quiet.  Don't  pursue  your 
snarling,  cynical  remarks,  but  go  on  with  your  story. 

As  you  go  through  life,  stumbling,  and  slipping,  and 
staggering  to  your  feet  again,  ruefully  aware  of  your  own 
wretched  weakness,  and  praying,  with  a  contrite  heart,  let 
us  trust,  that  you  may  not  be  led  into  temptation,  have  you 
not  often  looked  at  other  fellow-sinners,  and  speculated 
with  an  awful  interest  on  their  career  ?  Some  there  are 
on  whom,  quite  in  their  early  lives,  dark  Ahrimanes  has 
seemed  to  la}'  his  dread  mark :  children,  yet  corrupt,  and 
wicked  of  tongue  ;  tender  of  age,  yet  cruel ;  who  should  be 
truth-telling  and  generous  yet  (tliey  were  at  their  mothers' 
bosoms  yesterday),  but  are  false  and  cold  and  greedy  before 
their  time.  Infants  almost,  they  practise  the  art  and  self- 
ishness of  old  men.  Behind  their  candid  faces  are  wiles 
and  wickedness,  and  a  hideous  precocity  of  artifice.  I  can 
recall  such,  and  in  the  vista  of  far-off,  unforgotten  boyhood, 
can  see  marching  that  sad  little  procession  of  enfans  per- 
diis.  ]\ray  they  be  saved,  pray  heaven !  Then  there  is  the 
doubtful  class,  those  who  are  still  on  trial ;  those  who  fall 
and  rise  again ;  those  who  are  often  worsted  in  life's  battle ; 
beaten  down,  wounded,  imprisoned ;  but  escape  and  con- 
quer sometimes.  And  then  there  is  the  happy  class  about 
whom  there  seems  no  doubt  at  all :  the  spotless  and  white- 
robed  ones,  to  whom  virtue  is  easy ;  in  whose  pure  bosom 
faith  nestles,  and  cold  doubt  finds  no  entrance  ;  who  are 
children,  and  good ;  young  men,  and  good ;  husbands  and 
fathers,  and  yet  good.  Why  could  the  captain  of  our 
school  write  his  Greek  iambics  without  an  effort,  and 
without  an  error  ?  Others  of  us  blistered  the  page  with 
unavailing  tears  and  blots,  and  might  toil  ever  so  and  come 
in  lag  last  at  the  bottom  of  the  form.  Our  friend  Philip 
belongs  to  the  middle-class,  in  which  you  and  I  probably 
are,  my  dear  sir  —  not  yet,  I  hope,  irredeemably  consigned 
to  that  awful  third  class,  whereof  mention  has  been  made. 

But,  being  homo,  and  liable  to  err,  there  is  no  doubt  Mr. 
Philip  exercised  his  privilege,  and  there  was  even  no  little 
fear  at  one  time  that  he  slioidd  overdraw  his  account.  He 
went  from  school  to  the  university,  and  there  distinguished 
himself  certainly,  but  in  a  way  in  which  very  few  parents 
would  choose  that  their  sons  should  excel.     That  he  should 


166  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

hunt,  that  he  should  give  parties,  that  he  shoukl  pull  a  good 
oar  in  one  of  the  best  boats  on  the  river,  that  he  should 
speak  at  the  Union — all  these  were  very  well.  But  why 
should  he  speak  such  awful  radicalism  and  republicanism 

—  he  with  noble  blood  in  his  veins,  and  the  son  of  a  parent 
whose  interest  at  least  it  was  to  keep  well  with  people  of 
high  station  ? 

''■  Why,  Tendennis,"  said  Dr.  Firniin  to  me  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  and  much  genuine  grief  exhibited  on  his  handsome 
pale  face — "why  should  it  be  said  that  Philip  Firmin  — 
both   of  whose  grandfathers  fought  nobly    for  their  king 

—  should  be  forgetting  the  principles  of  his  family,  and — • 
and,  I  haven't  words  to  tell  you  how  deeply  he  disappoints 
me.  Why,  I  actually  heard  of  him  at  that  horrible  Union 
advocating  the  death  of  Charles  the  First !  I  was  wild 
enough  myself  when  I  was  at  the  university,  but  I  was  a 
gentleman." 

"  Boys,  sir,  are  boys,"  I  urged.  "  They  will  advocate  anj^- 
thing  for  an  argument ;  and  Philip  would  have  taken  the 
other  side  quite  as  readily." 

"  Lord  Axminster  and  Lord  St.  Dennis  told  me  of  it  at 
the  club.  I  can  tell  you  it  has  made  a  most  ]:)ainful  impres- 
sion," cried  the  fathero  "  That  my  son  should  be  a  radical 
and  a  republican,  is  a  cruel  thought  for  a  father;  and  I,  who 
had  hoped  for  Lord  Ringwood's  borough  for  him  —  who  had 
hoped  —  who  had  hoped  very  much  better  things  for  him 
and  from  him.  He  is  not  a  comfort  to  me.  You  saw  how 
he  treated  me  one  night  ?  A  man  might  live  on  different 
terms,  I  think,  with  his  only  son  ! "  And  with  a  breaking 
voice,  a  pallid  cheek,  and  a  real  grief  at  his  heart,  the 
unhappy  physician  moved  away. 

How  had  the  doctor  bred  his  son,  that  the  young  man 
should  be  thus  unruly  ?  Was  the  revolt  the  boy's  fault,  or 
the  father's  ?  Dr.  Firmin's  horror  seemed  to  be  because 
his  noble  friends  were  horrified  by  Phil's  radical  doctrine. 
At  that  time  of  my  life,  being  young  and  very  green,  I  had 
a  little  mischievous  pleasure  in  infuriating  Squaretoes,  and 
causing  him  to  pronounce  that  I  was  "  a  dangerous  man." 
Now,  I  am  ready  to  say  that  Nero  was  a  monarch  with  many 
elegant  accomplishments,  and  considerable  natural  amiabil- 
ity of  disposition.  I  praise  and  admire  success  wherever 
I  meet  it.  I  make  allowance  for  faults  and  shortcomings, 
especially  in  my  superiors ;  and  feel  that  did  we  know  all 
we    should    judge   them    very    differently.      People    don't 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        167 

believe  me,  perhaps,  quite  so  much  as  formerly.  But  I 
don't  offend:  I  trust  I  don't  offend.  Have  T  said  anything 
painful  ?  Plague  on  ni}"  blunders !  I  recall  the  expression. 
I  regret  it.     I  contradict  it  flat. 

As  I  am  ready  to  find  excuses  for  everybody,  let  poor 
Phili})Come  in  for  the  benefit  of  this  mild  amnesty  ;  and  if 
he  vexed  liis  father,  as  he  certainly  did,  let  us  trust  —  let  us 
be  thankfully  sure  —  he  was  not  so  black  as  the  old  gentle- 
man depicted  him.  Nay,  if  I  have  painted  the  Old  Gen- 
tleman himself  as  rather  black,  who  knows  but  that  this  was 
an  error,  not  of  his  complexion,  but  of  my  vision  ?  Phil 
was  unruly  because  he  was  bold,  and  wild,  and  young.  His 
father  was  hurt,  naturally  hurt,  because  of  the  boy's  ex- 
travagances and  follies.  They  will  come  together  again,  as 
father  and  son  should.  These  little  differences  of  temper 
Avill  be  smoothed  and  equalized  anon.  The  boy  has  led  a 
wild  life.  He  has  been  obliged  to  leave  college.  He  has 
given  his  father  hours  of  anxiety  and  nights  of  painful 
watching.  But  stay,  father,  what  of  you  ?  Have  you 
shown  to  the  boy  the  practice  of  confidence,  the  example  of 
love  and  honor  ?  Did  you  accustom  him  to  virtue,  and  teach 
truth  to  the  child  at  your  knee  ?  "  Honor  your  father  and 
mother."  Amen.  ^la}^  his  days  be  long  who  fulfils  the 
command :  but  implied,  though  unwritten  on  the  table,  is 
there  not  the  order,  ''  Honor  your  son  and  daughter  ?  " 
Pray  heaven  that  we,  whose  days  are  already  not  few  in  the 
land,  may  keep  this  ordinance  too. 

What  had  made  Philip  wild,  extravagant,  and  insubordi- 
nate ?  Cured  of  that  illness  in  which  we  saw  him,  he  rose 
up,  and  from  school  went  his  way  to  the  universit}',  and 
there  entered  on  a  life  such  as  wild  young  men  will  lead. 
From  that  day  of  illness  his  manner  towards  his  father 
changed,  and  regarding  the  change  the  elder  Firmin  seemed 
afraid  to  question  his  son.  He  used  the  house  as  if  his  own, 
came  and  absented  himself  at  will,  ruled  the  servants,  and 
was  spoiled  b}^  them  ;  spent  the  income  which  was  settled 
on  his  mother  and  her  children,  and  gave  of  it  liberally  to 
poor  acquaintances.  To  the  remonstrances  of  old  friends  he 
replied  that  he  had  a  right  to  do  as  he  chose  with  his  own  ; 
that  other  men  who  were  poor  might  work,  but  that  he  had 
enough  to  live  on,  without  grinding  over  classics  and  math- 
ematics. He  was  implicated  in  more  rows  than  one ;  his 
tutors  saw  him  not,  but  he  and  the  proctors  became  a  great 
deal  too  well  acquainted.     If  I  were  to  give  a  history  of  ]\Ir. 


168  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

Philip  Firmin  at  the  university,  it  would  be  the  story  of  an 
Idle  Apprentice,  of  whom  his  pastors  and  masters  were  jus- 
tilied  in  prophesying  evil.  He  was  seen  on  lawless  London 
excursions,  when  his  father  and  tutor  supposed  him  unwell 
in  his  rooms  in  college.  He  made  acquaintance  with  jolly 
companions,  with  whom  his  father  grieved  that  he  shouhl 
be  intimate.  He  cut  the  astonished  uncle  Twysden  in  Lon- 
don Street,  and  blandly  told  him  that  he  must  be  mistaken 
—  he  one  Frenchman,  he  no  speak  English.  He  stared  the 
master  of  his  own  college  out  of  countenance,  dashed  back 
to  college  with  a  Turpindike  celerity,  and  was  in  rooms  with 
a  ready-proved  alibi  when  inquiries  were  made.  I  am  afraid 
there  is  no  doubt  that  Phil  screwed  up  his  tutor's  door; 
Mr.  Okes  discovered  him  in  the  act.  He  had  to  go  down, 
the  young  prodigal.  I  wish  I  could  say  he  was  repentant. 
But  he  appeared  before  his  father  with  the  utmost  non- 
chalance ;  said  that  he  was  doing  no  good  at  the  university, 
and  should  be  much  better  away,  and  then  went  abroad  on 
a  dashing  tour  to  France  and  Italy,  whither  it  is  by  no 
means  our  business  to  follow  him.  Something  had  poisoned 
the  generous  blood.  The  once  kindly  honest  lad  was  wild 
and  reckless.  He  had  money  in  sufficiency,  his  own  horses 
and  equipage,  and  free  quarters  in  his  father's  house.  But 
father  and  son  scarce  met,  and  seldom  took  a  meal  together. 
"  I  know  his  haunts,  but  I  don't  know  his  friends,  Penden- 
nis,"  the  elder  man  said.  "I  don't  think  they  are  vicious, 
so  much  as  low.  I  do  not  charge  him  with  vice,  mind  you ; 
but  with  idleness,  and  a  fatal  love  of  low  company,  and  a 
frantic,  suicidal  determination  to  fling  his  chances  in  life 
away.     Ah,  think  where  he  might  be,  and  where  he  is !  " 

Where  he  was  ?  Do  not  be  alarmed.  Philip  was  only 
idling.  Philip  might  have  been  much  more  industriously, 
more  profitably,  and  a  great  deal  more  wickedly  employed. 
AVhat  is  now  called  Bohemia  had  no  name  in  Philip's  young 
days,  though  many  of  us  knew  the  country  very  well.  A 
pleasant  land,  not  fenced  with  drab  stucco,  like  Tyburnia 
or  Belgravia  ;  not  guarded  by  a  huge  standing  army  of  foot- 
men ;  not  echoing  with  noble  chariots ;  not  replete  with 
polite  chintz  drawing-rooms  and  neat  tea-tables  ;  a  land  over 
which  hangs  an  endless  fog,  occasioned  by  much  tobacco ; 
a  land  of  chambers,  billiard-rooms,  supper-rooms,  oysters  ;  a 
land  of  song;  a  land  where  soda-water  flows  freefy  in  the 
morning  ;  a  land  of  tin-dish  covers  from  taverns,  and  froth- 
ing porter;    a  land  of  lotus-eating  (with  lots  of  cayenne 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH  THE    WOULD.        169 

pepper),  of  jjiills  on  the  river,  of  delicious  readiii<,r  of  novels, 
magazines,  and  saunterings  in  many  studios ;  a  land  where 
men  call  each  other  by  their  Christian  names ;  Avhere  most 
are  poor,  where  almost  all  are  young,  and  where,  if  a  few 
oldsters  do  enter,  it  is  because  they  have  preserved  more 
tenderly  and  carefully  than  other  folks  their  youthful 
spirits,  and  the  delightful  capacity  to  be  idle.  I  have  lost 
my  way  to  Bohemia  now,  but  it  is  certain  that  Prague  is  the 
most  picturesque  city  in  the  world. 

Having  long  lived  there,  and  indeed  only  lately  quitted 
the  Bohemian  land  at  the  time  whereof  I  am  writing,  I 
could  not  quite  participate  in  Dr.  Firmin's  indignation  at 
his  son  persisting  in  his  bad  courses  and  wild  associates. 
When  Firmin  had  been  wild  himself,  he  had  fought,  in- 
trigued, and  gambled  in  good  company.  Phil  chose  his 
friends  amongst  a  banditti  never  heard  of  in  fashionable 
quarters.  Perhaps  he  liked  to  play  the  prince  in  the  midst 
of  these  associates,  and  was  not  averse  to  the  flattery  which 
a  full  purse  brought  him  among  men  most  of  whose  pockets 
had  a  meagre  lining.  He  had  not  emigrated  to  Bohemia, 
and  settled  there  altogether.  At  school  and  in  his  brief 
university  career  he  had  made  some  friends  who  lived  in 
the  world,  and  with  whom  he  was  still  familiar.  "These 
come  and  knock  at  my  front  door,  my  father's  door,"  he 
Avould  say,  with  one  of  his  old  laughs ;  "  the  Bandits,  who 
have  the  signal,  enter  only  by  the  dissecting  room.  I  know 
Avhich  are  the  most  honest,  and  that  it  is  not  always  the 
poor  Freebooters  who  best  deserve  to  be  hanged," 

Like  many  a  young  gentleman  who  has  no  intention  of 
pursuing  legal  studies  seriously,  Philip  entered  at  an  inn 
of  court,  and  kept  his  terms  duly,  though  he  vowed  that 
his  conscience  would  not  allow  him  to  practise  (I  am  not 
defending  the  opinions  of  this  squeamish  moralist  —  only 
stating  them).  His  acquaintance  here  lay  amongst  the 
Temple  I)ohemians.  He  had  part  of  a  set  of  chambers  in 
Parchment  Buildings,  to  be  sure,  and  you  might  read  on  a 
door,  "  Mr.  Cassidy,  Mi\  P.  Firmin,  iNIr.  Van  John " ;  but 
were  these  gentlemen  likely  to  advance  Philip  in  life  ? 
Cassidy  was  a  newspaper  reporter,  and  young  Van  John  a 
betting-man  who  Avas  always  attending  races.  Dr.  Firmin 
had  a  horror  of  newspaper-men,  and  considered  they  be- 
longed to  the  dangerous  classes,  and  treated  them  with 
a  distant  affability. 

"  Look  at  the  governor,  Pen,"  Philip  would  say  to  the 


170  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

present  chronicler.  "  He  alwaj's  watches  you  with  a  secret 
suspicion,  and  has  never  got  over  his  wonder  at  your  being 
a  gentleman.  I  like  him  when  he  does  the  Lord  Chatham 
business,  and  condescends  towards  you,  and  gives  you  his 
hand  to  kiss.  He  considers  he  is  your  better,  don't  you 
see  ?  Oh,  he  is  a  paragon  of  a  pere  noble,  the  governor  is  ! 
and  T  ought  to  be  a  young  Sir  Charles  G-randison."  And 
the  young  scapegrace  would  imitate  his  father's  smile,  and 
the  doctor's  manner  of  laying  his  hand  to  his  breast  and 
putting  out  his  neat  right  leg,  all  of  which  movements 
or  postures  were,  I  own,  rather  pompous  and  affected. 

Whatever  the  paternal  faults  were,  you  will  say  that 
Philip  was  not  the  man  to  criticise  them  ;  nor  in  this  mat- 
ter shall  I  attempt  to  defend  him.  ]\[y  wife  has  a  little 
pensioner  whom  she  found  wandering  in  the  street,  and 
singing  a  little  artless  song.  The  child  could  not  speak 
yet —  only  warble  its  little  song ;  and  had  thus  strayed  away 
from  home,  and  never  once  knew  of  her  danger.  We  kept 
her  for  a  while,  until  the  police  found  her  parents.  Our 
servants  bathed  her,  and  dressed  her,  and  sent  her  home 
in  such  neat  clothes  as  the  poor  little  wretch  had  never 
seen  until  fortune  sent  her  in  the  way  of  those  good- 
natured  folks.  She  pays  them  frequent  visits.  AYhen  she 
goes  away  from  us  she  is  always  neat  and  clean  ;  when  she 
conies  to  us,  she  is  in  rags  and  dirty  :  a  wicked  little  slat- 
tern !  And  pray,  whose  duty  is  it  to  keep  her  clean  ?  and 
has  not  the  parent  in  this  case  forgotten  to  honor  her 
daughter  ?  Suppose  there  is  some  reason  which  prevents 
Philip  from  loving  his  father — that  the  doctor  has  neg- 
lected to  cleanse  the  boy's  heart,  and  by  carelessness  and 
indifference  has  sent  him  erring  into  the  world.  If  so,  woe 
be  to  that  doctor !  If  I  take  my  little  son  to  the  tavern  to 
dinner,  shall  I  not  assuredly  pay  ?  If  I  suffer  him  in  ten- 
der youth  to  go  astray,  and  harm  comes  to  him,  whose  is 
the  fault  ? 

Perhaps  the  very  outrages  and  irregularities  of  which 
Phil's  father  complained,  were  in  some  degree  occasioned 
by  the  elder's  own  faults.  He  was  so  laboriously  obsequi- 
ous to  great  men,  that  the  son  in  a  rage  defied  and  avoided 
them.  He  was  so  grave,  so  polite,  so  complimentary,  so 
artificial,  that  Phil,  in  revolt  at  such  hypocrisy,  chose  to  be 
frank,  cynical,  and  familiar.  The  grave  old  bigwigs  whom 
the  doctor  loved  to  assemble,  bland  and  solemn  men  of  the 
ancient  school,  who  dined  solemnly  with  each  other  at  theii 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        171 

solemn  old  houses  —  such  men  as  old  Lord  Botley,  Baron 
Bumpsher,  Cricklade  (who  published  "  Travels  in  Asia 
Minor,"  4tu,  1S()4),  the  Bishop  of  St.  Bees,  and  the  like  — 
wagged  their  old  heads  sadly  when  they  collogued  in  clubs, 
and  talked  of  i^oor  Firmin's  scapegrace  of  a  son.  He 
Avould  come  to  no  good  ;  he  was  giving  his  good  father 
much  pain ;  he  had  been  in  all  sorts  of  rows  and  disturb- 
ances at  the  university,  and  the  Master  of  Boniface  re- 
ported most  unfavorably  of  him.  And  at  the  solemn 
dinners  in  Old  Parr  Street  —  the  admirable,  costly,  silent 
dinners  —  he  treated  these  old  gentlemen  with  a  familiarity 
which  caused  the  old  heads  to  shake  with  surprise  and 
choking  indignation.  Lord  Botley  and  Baron  Bumpsher 
had  proposed  and  seconded  Firmin's  boy  at  the  Megathe- 
rium club.  The  pallid  old  boys  toddled  away  in  alarm 
when  he  made  his  appearance  there.  He  brought  a  smell 
of  tobacco-smoke  with  him.  He  was  capable  of  smoking  in 
the  drawing-room  itself.  They  trembled  before  Philip, 
who,  for  his  part,  used  to  relish  their  senile  anger ;  and 
loved,  as  he  called  it,  to  tie  all  their  pigtails  together. 

In  no  place  was  Philip  seen  or  heard  to  so  little  advan- 
tage as  in  his  father's  house.  "I  feel  like  a  humbug 
myself  amongst  those  old  humbugs,"  he  would  say  to  me. 
'-  Their  old  jokes,  and  their  old  compliments,  and  their 
virtuous  old  conversation  sicken  me.  Are  all  old  men  hum- 
bugs, I  wonder  ?  "  It  is  not  pleasant  to  hear  misanthropy 
from  3'oung  lips,  and  to  find  eyes  that  are  scarce  twenty 
years  old  already  looking  out  with  distrust  on  the  world. 

In  other  houses  than  his  own  I  am  bound  to  say  Philip 
was  much  more  amiable,  and  he  carried  with  him  a  splen- 
dor of  gayety  and  cheerfulness  which  brought  sunshine 
and  welcome  into  many  a  room  which  he  frequented. 
I  have  said  that  many  of  his  companions  were  artists  and 
journalists,  and  their  clubs  and  haunts  were  his  own. 
Pidley  the  Academician  had  Mrs.  Brandon's  room  in 
Thornhaugh  Street,  and  Philip  was  often  in  J.  J.'s  studio 
or  in  the  widow's  little  room  below.  He  had  a  very  great 
tenderness  and  affection  for  her  ;  her  presence  seemed  to 
purify  him  ;  and  in  her  company  the  boisterous,  reckless 
3'oung  man  was  invariably  gentle  and  respectful.  Her 
eyes  used  to  hll  with  tears  when  she  spoke  about  him  ; 
and  when  he  was  present,  followed  and  watched  him  with 
sweet  motherly  devotion.  It  was  pleasant  to  see  him  at 
her  homely  little  fireside,  and  hear  his  jokes  and  prattle, 


172  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

with  a  fatuous  old  father,  who  was  one  of  Mrs.  Brandon's 
lodgers.  Philip. would  play  cribbage  for  hours  with  this 
old  man,  frisk  about  him  with  a  hundred  harmless  jokes, 
and  walk  out  by  his  invalid  chair  when  the  old  captain 
went  to  sun  himself  in  the  Xew  Eoad.  He  was  an  idle 
fellow,  Philip,  that's  the  truth.  He  had  an  agreeable 
perseverance  in  doing  nothing,  and  would  pass  half  a  day 
in  perfect  contentment  over  his  pipe,  watching  Ridley  at 
his  easel.  J.  J.  painted  that  charming  head  of  Philip 
which  hangs  in  Mrs.  Brandon's  little  room  —  with  the  fair 
hair,  the  tawny  beard  and  whiskers,  and  the  bold  blue  eyes. 

Phil  had  a  certain  after-supper  song  of  "  Garryowen  na 
Gloria,"  which  it  did  you  good  to  hear,  and  which,  when 
sung  at  his  full  pitch,  you  might  hear  for  a  mile  round. 
One  night  I  had  been  to  dine  in  Russell  Square,  and  was 
brought  home  in  his  carriage  by  Dr.  Pirmin,  Avho  was  of 
the  party.  As  we  came  through  Soho,  the  windows  of  a 
certain  club-room  called  the  ''Haunt"  were  open,  and  we 
could  hear  Philip's  song  booming  through  the  night,  and 
especially  a  certain  wild-Irish  war-whoop  with  which  it 
concluded,  amidst  universal  applause  and  enthusiastic  bat- 
tering of  glasses. 

The  poor  father  sank  back  in  the  carriage  as  though  a 
blow  had  struck  him.  "Do  you  hear  his  voice?"  he 
groaned  out.  "  Those  are  his  haunts.  My  son,  who  might 
go  anywhere,  prefers  to  be  captain  in  a  pothouse,  and  sing 
songs  in  a  tap-room  !  '^ 

I  tried  to  make  the  best  of  the  case.  I  knew  there  was 
no  harm  in  the  place ;  that  clever  men  of  considerable  note 
frequented  it.  But  the  wounded  father  was  not  to  be  con- 
soled by  such  commonplaces ;  and  a  deep  and  natural 
grief  oppressed  him  in  consequence  of  the  faults  of  his 
son. 

What  ensued  by  no  means  surprised  me.  Among  Dr. 
Pirmin's  patients  was  a  maiden  lady  of  suitable  age  and 
large  fortune,  who  looked  upon  the  accomplished  doctor 
with  favorable  eyes.  That  he  should  take  a  companion  to 
cheer  him  in  his  solitude  was  natural  enough,  and  all  his 
friends  concurred  in  thinking  that  he  should  marry. 
Every  one  had  cognizance  of  the  quiet  little  courtship, 
except  the  doctor's  son,  between  whom  and  his  father  there 
were  only  too  many  secrets. 

Some  man  in  a  club  asked  Philip  whether  he  should 
condole  with  him  or  congratulate  him  on  his  father's  ap- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  VvORLD.  173 

proaching  inarriage  ?  His  what  ?  The  younger  Firmin 
exhibited  the  greatest  surprise  and  agitation  on  hearing  of 
this  match.  He  ran  home  :  he  awaited  his  father's  return. 
When  Dr.  Firmin  came  home  and  betook  himself  to  his 
study,  Philip  confronted  him  there.  "  This  must  be  a  lie, 
sir,  which  I  have  heard  to-day,"  the  young  man  said, 
fiercely. 

"A  lie!  what  lie,  Philip?"  asked  the  father.  They 
were  both  very  resolute  and  courageous  men. 

"That  you  are  going  to  marry  Miss  Benson." 

"  Do  you  make  my  house  so  happy,  that  I  don't  need  any 
other  companion  ?  "  asked  the  father. 

"  That's  not  the  question,"  said  Philip,  hotly.  "  You 
can't  and  mustn't  marry  that  lady,  sir." 

"'  And  why  not,  sir  ?  " 

"  Because  in  the  eyes  of  God  and  Heaven  you  are  mar- 
ried already,  sir.  And  I  swear  I  will  tell  ]\Iiss  Benson  the 
story  to-morrow,  if  you  persist  in  your  plan." 

"  So  you  know  that  story  ?  "  groaned  the  father. 

"  Yes.     God  forgive  you,"  said  the  son. 

"It  was  a  fault  of  my  youth  that  has  been  bitterly 
repented." 

"A  fault  I — a  crime  I"  said  Philip. 

"  Enough,  sir  !  Whatever  my  fault,  it  is  not  for  you  to 
charge  me  with  it." 

''If  you  won't  guard  your  own  honor,  I  must.  I  shall  go 
to  Miss  Benson  now." 

"  If  you  go  out  of  this  house  you  don't  pretend  to  return 
to  it." 

"Be  it  so.     Let  us  settle  our  accounts,  and  part,  sir." 

"  Philip,  Philip  !  you  break  my  heart,"  cried  the  father. 

"You  don't  suppose  mine  is  very  light,  sir,"  said  the  son. 

Philip  never  had  Miss  Benson  for  a  mother-in-law.  But 
father  and  son  loved  each  other  no  better  after  their  dis- 
pute. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Brandon's. 


HOENHAUGH  STREET  is  but 
a  poor  place  now,  and  the  houses 
look  as  if  they  had  seen  better 
days  ;  but  that  house  with  the 
cut  centre  drawing-room  window, 
which  has  the  name  of  Brandon 
on  the  door,  is  as  neat  as  any 
house  in  the  quarter,  and  the 
brass  plate  always  shines  like 
burnished  gold.  About  Easter 
time  many  tine  carriages  stop  at 
that  door,  and  splendid  people 
walk  in,  introduced  by  a  tidy  little 
maid,  or  else  by  an  athletic  Italian, 
with  a  glossy  black  beard  and 
gold  earrings,  w^ho  conducts  them 
to  the  drawing-room  floor,  where 
Mr.  Ridley,  the  painter,  lives,  and 
where  his  pictures  are  privately  exhibited  before  the}^  go  to 
the  Royal  Academy. 

As  the  carriages  drive  up,  you  will  often  see  a  red-faced 
man,  in  an  olive-green  wig,  smiling  blandly  over  the  blinds 
of  the  parlor.  0!i  the  ground-floor.  That  is  Captain  Gann, 
the  father  of  the  lady  who  keeps  the  house.  I  don't  know 
how  he  came  by  the  rank  of  captain,  but  he  has  borne  it  so 
long  and  gallantly  that  there  is  no  use  in  any  longer  question- 
ing the  title.  He  does  not  claim  it,  neither  does  he  deny  it. 
But  the  wags  who  call  upon  Mrs.  Brandon  can  always,  as 
the  phrase  is,  "  draw  "  her  father,  by  speaking  of  Prussia, 
France,  Waterloo,  or  battles  in  general,  until  the  Little  Sister 
says,  "  Kow,  never  mind  about  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  papa  " 
(she  says  Pa — her  h's  are  irregular  —  I  can't  help  it)  — 
*'  never  mind  about  Waterloo,  papa ;  you've  told  them  all 
about  it.  And  don't  go  on,  Mr  Beans,  don't,  j^laase,  go  on  in 
that  way." 

174 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP.  175 

Young  Beans  has  alread}'  drawn  ''  Captain  Gann  (assisted 
by  Shaw,  the  Life-Guardsman)  killing  twenty-four  French 
cuirassiers  at  Waterloo."  ''  Captain  Gann  defending  Hougou- 
mont."  "  Captain  Gann,  called  upon  by  Xapoleon  Bona- 
parte to  lay  down  his  arms,  saying,  'A  captain  of  militia 
dies,  but  never  surrenders.'  "  ^'  The  Duke  of  Wellington, 
pointing  to  the  advancing  Old  Guard,  and  saying,  '  Up, 
Gann,  and  at  them.' "  And  these  sketches  are  so  droll  that 
even  the  Little  Sister,  Gann's  own  daughter,  can't  help 
laughing  at  them.  To  be  sure,  she  loves  fun,  the  Little 
Sister ;  laughs  over  droll  books ;  laughs  to  herself,  in  her 
little  quiet  corner  at  work  ;  laughs  over  pictures  ;  and,  at  the 
right  place,  laughs  and  sympathizes  too.  Ridley  says,  he 
knows  few  better  critics  of  pictures  than  Mrs.  Brandon. 
She  has  a  sweet  temper,  a  merry  sense  of  humor,  that  makes 
the  cheeks  dimple  and  the  eyes  shine ;  and  a  kind  heart, 
that  has  been  sorely  tried  and  Avounded,  but  is  still  soft  and 
gentle.  Fortunate  are  they  whose  hearts  so  tried  by  suffer- 
ing yet  recover  their  health.  Some  have  illnesses  from 
which  there  is  no  recovery,  and  drag  through  life  afterwards, 
maimed  and  invalided. 

But  this  Little  Sister,  having  been  subjected  in  youth  to 
a  dreadful  trial  and  sorrow,  was  saved  out  of  them  by  a  kind 
Providence,  and  is  now  so  thoroughly  restored  as  to  own 
that  she  is  happ}^  and  to  thank  God  that  she  can  be  grateful 
and  useful.  When  poor  Montfitchet  died,  she  nursed  him 
through  his  illness  as  tenderly  as  his  good  wife  herself.  In 
the  days  of  her  own  chief  grief  and  misfortune,  her  father, 
who  was  under  the  domination  of  his  wife,  a  cruel  and  blun- 
dering woman,  thrust  out  poor  little  Caroline  from  his  door, 
when  she  returned  to  it  the  broken-hearted  victim  of  a 
scoundrel's  seduction  ;  and  when  the  old  captain  was  himself 
in  want  and  houseless,  she  had  found  him,  sheltered,  and 
fed  him.  And  it  was  from  that  day  her  wounds  had  begun 
to  heal,  and,  from  gratitude  i'or  this  immense  piece  of  good 
fortune  vouchsafed  to  her,  that  her  happiness  and  cheerful- 
ness returned.  Returned  ?  There  was  an  old  servant  of 
the  family,  who  could  not  sta}^  in  the  house  because  she  was 
so  abominably  disrespectful  to  the  captain,  and  this  woman 
said  she  had  never  known  Miss  Caroline  so  cheerful  nor  so 
happy,  nor  so  good-looking  as  she  was  now. 

So  Ca]itain  Gann  came  to  live  with  his  daughter,  and 
patronized  her  with  much  dignit}'.  He  had  a  very  few  yearly 
pounds,  which  served  to  pay  his  club  exj)enses,  and  a  portion 


176  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

of  his  clothes.  His  club,  I  need  not  say,  was  at  the  "  Admiral 
Byng,"  Tottenham  Court  iioad,  and  here  the  captain  met 
frequently  a  pleasant  little  society,  and  bragged  unceasingly 
about  his  former  prosperity. 

I  have  heard  that  the  country-house  in  Kent,  of  which  he 
boasted,  was  a  shabby  little  lodging-house  at  Margate,  of 
which  the  furniture  was  sold  in  execution  ;  but  if  it  had  been 
a  palace  the  cajjtain  would  not  have  been  out  of  place  there, 
one  or  two  people  still  rather  fondly  thought.  His  daughter, 
amongst  others,  had  tried  to  fancy  all  sorts  of  good  of  her 
father,  and  especially  that  he  was  a  man  of  remarkably  good 
manners.  But  she  had  seen  one  or  two  gentlemen  since  she 
knew  the  poor  old  father  —  gentlemen  with  rough  coats  and 
good  hearts,  like  Dr.  Goodenough ;  gentlemen  with  superfine 
coats  and  superfine  double-milled  manners,  like  Dr.  Eirmin, 
and  hearts  —  well,  never  mind  about  that  point ;  gentlemen 
of  no  A's,  like  the  good,  dear,  faithful  benefactor  who  had 
rescued  her  at  the  brink  of  despair ;  men  of  genius  like 
Eidley ;  great,  hearty,  generous,  honest  gentlemen,  like 
Philip  ;  and  this  illusion  about  Pa,  I  supposed,  had  vanished 
along  with  some  other  fancies  of  her  poor  little  maiden 
youth.  The  truth  is,  she  had  an  understanding  with  the 
"Admiral  Byng":  the  landlady  was  instructed  as  to  the 
supplies  to  be  furnished  to  the  captain  ;  and  as  for  his 
stories,  poor  Caroline  knew  them  a  great  deal  too  well  to 
believe  in  them  any  more. 

I  would  not  be  understood  to  accuse  the  captain  of  habitual 
inebriety.  He  was  a  generous  officer,  and  his  delight  was, 
when  in  cash,  to  order  "  glasses  round  "  for  the  company  at 
the  club,  to  whom  he  narrated  the  history  of  his  brilliant 
early  days,  when  he  lived  in  some  of  the  tip-top  society  of 
this  city,  sir  —  a  society  in  which,  we  need  not  say,  the 
custom  always  is  for  gentlemen  to  treat  other  gentlemen  to 
rum-and-water.  ]^ever  mind  —  I  wish  we  were  all  as  happy 
as  the  captain.  I  see  his  jolly  face  now  before  me  as  it 
blooms  through  the  window  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  and  the 
wave  of  the  somewhat  dingy  hand  that  sweeps  me  a  gracious 
recognition. 

The  clergyman  of  the  neighboring  chapel  was  a  very  good 
friend  of  the  Little  Sister,  and  has  taken  tea  in  her  parlor ; 
to  which  circumstance  the  captain  frequently  alluded,  point- 
ing out  the  very  chair  on  which  the  divine  sat.  Mr.  Gann 
attended  his  ministrations  regularly  every  Sunday,  and 
brought  a  rich  though  somewhat  worn  bass  voice  to  bear 


ox  ins    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        Ill 

upon  the  anthems  and  h3-mns  at  the  chapeL  His  stj-le  was 
more  florid  than  is  general  now  among  chnrch  singers,  and, 
indeed,  had  been  acquired  in  a  former  age  and  in  the  per- 
formance of  rich  Bacchanalian  chants,  such  as  delighted  the 
contemporaries  of  our  Incledons  and  Brahams.  With  a 
very  little  entreaty,  the  captain  could  be  induced  to  sing  at 
the  club;  and  I  must  own  that  Phil  Firm  in  would  draw  the 
captain  out,  and  extract  from  him  a  song  of  ancient  days  ; 
but  this  must  be  in  the  absence  of  his  daughter,  whose  little 
face  wore  an  air  of  such  extreme  terror  and  disturbance 
when  her  father  sang  that  he  presently  ceased  from  exer- 
cising his  musical  talents  in  her  hearing.  He  hung  up  his 
lyre, "whereof  it  must  be  owned  that  time  had  broken  many 
of  the  once  resounding  chords. 

With  a  sketch  or  two  contributed  by  her  lodgers  —  with 
a  few  gimcracks  from  the  neighboring  Wardour  Street  pre- 
sented by  others  of  her  friends  —  with  the  chairs,  tables  and 
bureaus  as  bright  as  beeswax  and  rubbing  could  make  them 
—  the  Little  Sister's  room  was  a  cheery  little  place,  and 
received  not  a  little  company.  She  allowed  Pa's  pipe.  "  It's 
company  to  him,"  she  said.  "  A  man  can't  be  doing  much 
harm  when  he  is  smoking  his  pipe."  And  she  allowed  Phil's 
cigar.  Anything  was  allowed  to  Phil,  the  other  lodgers 
declared,  who  professed  to  be  quite  jealous  of  Philip  Firmin. 
She  had  a  very  few  books.  "  When  I  was  a  girl  I  used  to 
be  always  reading  novels."  she  said ;  "  but  la,  they're  mostly 
nonsense.  There's  Mr.  Pendennis,  who  comes  to  see  ]\[r. 
Ridley.  I  wonder  how  a  married  man  can  go  on  writing 
about  love,  and  all  that  stuff  I "  And,  indeed,  it  is  rather 
absurd  for  elderly  fingers  to  be  still  twanging  Dan  Cupid's 
toy  bow  and  arrows.  Yesterday  is  gone  —  yes,  but  very 
well  remembered ;  and  we  think  of  it  the  more  now  we  know 
that  To-morrow  is  not  going  to  bring  us  much. 

Into  Mrs.  Brandon's  parlor  j\Ir.  Ridley's  old  father  w^ould 
sometimes  enter  of  evenings,  and  share  the  bit  of  bread  and 
cheese,  or  the  modest  supper  of  Mrs.  Brandon  and  tlie 
captain.  The  homely  little  meal  has  almost  vanished  out  of 
our  life  now,  but  in  former  days  it  assembled  many  a  family 
around  its  kindly  board.  A  little  modest  supper-tray  —  a 
little  quiet  prattle — a  little  kindly  glass  that  cheered  and 
never  inebriated.  I  can  see  friendly  faces  smiling  round 
such  a  meal,  at  a  period  not  far  gone,  but  how  distant !  I 
wonder  whether  there  are  any  old  folks  now.  in  old  quarters 
of  old  country  towns,  who  come  to  each  other's  houses  in 

VOL.    I.  —  12 


178  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

sedan-chairs,  at  six  o'clock,  and  pl:iy  at  quadrille  until  supper- 
tray  time  ?  Of  evenings  Kidley  and  the  captain,  I  say, 
would  have  a  solemn  game  at  cribbage,  and  the  Little  Sister 
would  make  up  a  jug  of  something  good  for  the  two  oldsters. 
She  liked  Mr.  Kidley  to  come,  for  he  always  treated  her 
father  so  respectful,  and  was  quite  the  gentleman.  And  as 
for  Mrs.  Eidley,  Mr.  K.'s  "•  good  lady,"  —  was  she  not  also 
grateful  to  the  Little  Sister  for  having  nursed  her  son  during 
his  malady  ?  Through  their  connection  they  were  enabled 
to  procure  Mrs.  Brandon  many  valuable  friends ;  and  always 
were  pleased  to  pass  an  evening  with  the  captain,  and  were 
as  civil  to  him  as  they  could  have  been  had  he  been  at  the 
very  height  of  his  prosperity  and  splendor.  My  private 
opinion  of  the  old  captain,  you  see,  is  that  he  was  a  worth- 
less old  captain,  but  most  fortunate  in  his  early  ruin,  after 
which  he  had  lived  very  much  admired  and  comfortable, 
sufficient  whiskey  being  almost  always  provided  for  him. 

Old  Mr.  Kidley's  respect  for  her  father  afforded  a  most 
precious  consolation  to  the  Little  Sister;  Eidley  liked  to 
have  the  paper  read  to  him.  He  was  never  quite  easy  with 
print,  ancl  to  his  last  days,  many  words  to  be  met  with  in 
newspapers  and  elsewhere  used  to  occasion  the  good  butler 
much  intellectual  trouble.  The  Little  Sister  made  his 
lodgers'  bills  out  for  him  (Mr.  K.,  as  well  as  the  captain's 
daughter,  strove  to  increase  a  small  income  by  the  letting 
of  furnished  apartments),  or  the  captain  himself  would 
take  these  documents  in  charge  ;  he  wrote  a  noble  mercan- 
tile hand,  rendered  now  somewhat  shaky  by  time,  but  still 
very  fine  in  flourishes  and  capitals,  and  very  much  at 
worthy  Mr.  Ridley's  service.  Time  was,  when  his  son  was 
a  boy,  that  J.  J.  himself  had  prepared  these  accounts,  which 
neither  his  father  nor  his  mother  were  very  competent  to 
arrange.  ''  We  were  not,  in  our  young  time,  Mr.  Gann,"  Rid- 
ley remarked  to  his  friend,  "  brought  up  to  much  scholarship : 
and  very  little  book-learning  was  given  to  persons  in  7ny 
rank  of  life.  It  was  necessary  and  proper  for  you  gentle- 
men, of  course,  sir."  "  Of  course,  Mr.  Ridley,"  winks  the 
other  veteran  over  his  pipe.  "But  I  can't  go  and  ask  my 
son  John  James  to  keep  his  old  father's  books  now  as  he 
used  to  do  —  which  to  do  so  is.  on  the  part  of  you  and  Mrs. 
Brandon,  the  part  of  true  friendship,  and  I  value  it,  sir,  and 
so  do  my  son  John  James  reckonize  and  value  it,  sir."  Mr. 
Ridley  had  served  gentlemen  of  the  J>onne  ecole.  No  noble- 
man could  be  more  courtly  and  grave  tlian  he  was.     In  Mr. 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        179 


Gann's  manner  there  was  more  humorous  piayfulness, 
which  in  no  way.  liowever,  diminished  the  captain's  high 
breeding.  As  he  continued  to  be  intimate  with  :Mr.  Eidley, 
he  became  loftier  and  more  majestic.  I  think  each  of  these 
ehlers  acted  on  the  other,  and  for  good  ;  and  I  hope  Ridley's 
opinion  was  correct,  tliat  :\rr.  Gann  was  ever  the  gentleman. 


180  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

To  see  these  two  good  fogies  together  was  a  spectacle  for 
edification.  Their  tumblers  kissed  each  other  on  the 
table.  Their  elderly  friendship  brought  comfort  to  them- 
selves and  their  families.  A  little  matter  of  money  once 
created  a  coolness  between  the  two  old  gentlemen.  But  the 
Little  Sister  i:)aid  the  outstanding  account  between  her 
father  and  Mr.  Eidley  :  there  was  never  any  further  talk  of 
pecuniary  loans  between  them  ;  and  when  tlie}^  went  to  the 
"  Admiral  Byng/'  each  paid  for  himself. 

Phil  often  heard  of  that  nightly  meeting  at  the  "  Admi- 
ral's Head,"  and  longed  to  be  of  the  company.  But  even 
when  he  saw  the  old  gentlemen  in  the  Little  Sister's  parlor, 
they  felt  dimly  that  he  was  making  fun  of  them.  The 
captain  would  not  have  been  able  to  brag  so  at  ease  had 
Phil  been  continually  watching  him.  ''I  have  'ad  the 
honor  of  waiting  on  your  worthy  father  at  my  Lord  Tod- 
morden's  table.  Our  little  club  ain't  no  place  for  you,  Mr. 
Philip,  nor  for  my  son,  though  he's  a  good  son,  and  proud 
me  and  his  mother  is  of  him,  which  he  have  never  gave  us 
a  moment's  pain,  except  when  he  was  ill,  since  he  have 
came  to  man's  estate,  most  thankful  am  I,  and  with  my 
hand  on  my  heart,  for  to  be  able  to  say  so.  But  what  is 
good  for  me  and  Mr.  Gann,  won't  suit  you  young  gentle- 
men. You  ain't  a  tradesman,  sir,  else  I'm  mistaken  in  the 
family,  which  I  thought  the  Kingwoods  one  of  the  best  in 
England,  and  the  Firmins,  a  good  one  likewise."  Mr. 
Kidley  liked  the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  At  the  festive 
meetings  of  the  club,  seldom  a  night  passed  in  which  he 
did  not  compliment  his  brother  Byngs  and  air  his  own 
oratory.  Under  this  reproof  Phil  blushed,  and  hung  his 
conscious  head  with  shame.  "Mr.  Eidley,"  says  he,  "you 
shall  find  I  won't  come  where  I  am  not  welcome  ;  and  if  I 
come  to  annoy  you  at  the  '  Admiral  Byng,'  may  I  be  taken 
out  on  the  quarterdeck  and  shot."  On  which  Mr.  Eidley 
pronounced  Philip  to  be  a  "  most  sing'lar,  astrornary,  and 
ascentric  young  man.  A  good  heart,  sir.  Most  generous 
to  relieve  distress.  Pine  talent,  sir ;  but  I  fear  —  I  fear 
they  won't  come  to  much  good,  Mr.  Gann  —  saving  your 
presence,  ^Irs.  Brandon,  m'm,  which,  of  course,  you  ahvays 
stand  up  for  him." 

When  Philip  Pirmin  had  had  his  pipe  and  his  talk  with 
the  Little  Sister  in  her  parlor,  he  would  ascend  and  smoke 
his  second,  third,  tenth  pipe  in  J.  J.  Eidley's  studio.  He 
would  pass   hours  before  J.   J.'s  easel,  pouring   out  talk 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        181 

about  politics,  about  religion,  about  poetry,  about  women, 
about  the  dreadful  slavishness  and  meanness  of  the  world ; 
unwearied  in  talk  and  idleness,  as  placid  J.  J.  was  in  listen- 
ing and  labor.  The  painter  had  been  too  busy  in  life  over 
his  ease]  to  read  many  books.  His  ignorance  of  literature 
smote  him  with  a  frequent  shame.  He  admired  book- 
"vvriters,  and  young  men  of  the  university  who  quoted  their 
Greek  and  their  Horace  glibly.  He  listened  with  defer- 
ence to  their  talk  on  such  matters  ;  no  doubt  got  good  hints 
from  some  of  them ;  was  always  secretly  pained  and  sur- 
prised w^hen  the  university  gentlemen  were  beaten  in 
argument,  or  loud  and  coarse  in  conversation,  as  sometimes 
they  would  be.  "  J.  J.  is  a  very  clever  fellow,  of  course," 
]Mr.  Jarman  would  say  of  him,  "and  the  luckiest  man  in 
Europe.  He  loves  painting,  and  he  is  at  work  all  day.  He 
loves  toad3'ing  fine  people,  and  he  goes  to  a  tea-party  every 
night."  You  all  knew  Jarman  of  Charlotte  Street,  the 
miniature-painter  ?  He  was  one  of  the  kings  of  the 
"  Haunt."  His  tongue  spared  no  one.  He  envied  all  suc- 
cess, and  the  sight  of  prosperity  made  him  furious  :  but  to 
the  unsuccessful  he  was  kind ;  to  the  poor  eager  with  help 
and  prodigal  of  compassion ;  and  that  old.  talk  about  na- 
ture's noblemen  and  the  glory  of  labor  was  very  fiercely 
and  eloquentl}^  waged  by  him.  His  friends  admired  him: 
he  was  the  soul  of  independence,  and  thought  most  men 
sneaks  who  wore  clean  linen  and  frequented  gentlemen's 
society  :  but  it  must  be  owned  his  landlords  had  a  bad  opin- 
ion of  him,  and  I  have  heard  of  one  or  two  of  his  pecuniary 
transactions  which  certainly  were  not  to  Mr.  Jarman's 
credit.  Jarman  was  a  man  of  remarkable  humor.  He  was 
fond  of  the  widow,  and  would  speak  of  her  goodness,  use- 
fulness, and  honesty,  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  She  was  poor 
and  struggling  yet.  Had  she  been  wealthy  and  prosper- 
ous, Mr.  Jarman  would  not  have  been  so  alive  to  her 
merit. 

We  ascend  to  the  room  on  the  first  floor,  where  the  centre 
widow  has  been  heightened,  so  as  to  afford  an  upper  light, 
and  under  that  stream  of  radiance  we  behold  the  head  of 
an  old  friend,  Mr.  J.  J.  Ridley,  the  R.  Academician.  Time 
has  somewhat  tliinned  his  own  copious  locks,  and  prema- 
turely streaked  tlie  head  with  silver.  His  face  is  rather 
wan;  the  eager,  sensitive  liand  wliich  poises  brush  and 
palette,  and  quivers  over  the  picture,  is  very  thin  :  round 
bis  eyes  are  many  lines  of  ill  health  and,  perhaps,  care,  but 


182  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

the  eyes  are  as  bright  as  ever,  and,  when  tliey  look  at  the 
canvas  or  the  model  which  he  transfers  to  it,  clear,  and 
keen,  and  happy.  He  has  a  very  sweet  singing  voice,  and 
warbles  at  his  work,  or  whistles  at  it,  smiling.  He  sets  his 
hand  little  feats  of  skill  to  perform,  and  smiles  with  a  boy- 
ish pleasure  at  his  own  matchless  dexterity.  I  have  seen 
him,  with  an  old  pewter  mustard-pot  for  a  model,  fashion  a 
splendid  silver  flagon  in  one  of  his  pictures  ;  paint  the  hair 
of  an  animal,  the  folds  and  flowers  of  a  bit  of  brocade,  and 
so  forth,  with  a  perfect  delight  in  the  Avork  he  was  perform- 
ing :  a  delight  lasting  from  morning  till  sundoAvn,  during 
which  time  he  was  too  busy  to  touch  the  biscidt  and  glass 
of  water  Avhich  was  prepared  for  his  frugal  luncheon.  He  is 
greedy  of  the  last  minute  of  light,  and  never  can  be  got 
from  his  darling  pictures  Avithout  a  regret.  To  be  a  painter, 
and  to  have  your  hand  in  perfect  command,  I  hold  to  be  one 
of  life's  simima  bona.  The  happy  mixture  of  hand  and 
head  work  must  render  the  occupation  supremely  pleasant. 
In  the  day's  Avork  must  occur  endless  delightful  difficulties 
and  occasions  for  skill.  Over  the  details  of  that  armor,  that 
drapery,  or  Avhat  not,  the  sparkle  of  that  eye,  the  doAvny 
blush  of  that  cheek,  the  jcAvel  on  that  neck,  there  are 
battles  to  be  fought  and  victories  to  be  won.  Each  day 
there  must  occur  critical  moments  of  supreme  struggle  and 
triumph,  Avhen  struggle  and  victory  must  be  both  invigorating 
and  exquisitely  pleasing  —  as  a  burst  across  country  is  to  a 
fine  rider  perfectly  mounted,  Avho  knoAvs  that  his  courage  and 
his  horse  Avill  never  fail  him.  There  is  the  excitement  of  the 
game,  and  the  gallant  delight  in  Avinning  it.  Of  this  sort  of 
admirable  reward  for  their  labor,  no  men,  I  think,  have  a 
greater  share  than  painters  (perhaps  a  violin-player  perfectly 
and  triumphantly  performing  his  OAvn  beautiful  composition 
may  be  equally  happy).  Here  is  occupation:  here  is  excite- 
ment :  here  is  struggle  and  victory :  and  here  is  profit.  Can 
man  ask  more  from  fortune  ?  Dukes  and  Rothschilds 
may  be  envious  of  such  a  man. 

though  Eidley  has  had  his  trials  and  troubles,  as  Ave 
shall  presently  learn,  his  art  has  mastered  them  all.  Black 
Care  may  have  sat  in  crupper  on  that  Pegasus,  but  has 
ncA^er  unhorsed  the  rider.  In  certain  minds,  art  is  domi- 
nant and  superior  to  all  beside  —  stronger  than  loA^e,  stronger 
than  hate,  or  care,  or  penury.  As  soon  as  the  fever  leaves 
the  hand  free,  it  is  seizing  and  fondling  the  pencil.  Lo\^e 
may  froAvn  and  be  false,  but  the  otlier  mistress  never  Avill. 


ox  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        183 

She  is  always  true :  always  new :  always  the  friend,  com- 
panion, inestimable  consoler.  So  John  James  Kidley  sat 
at  his  easel  from  breakfast  till  sundown,  and  nev^er  left  his 
work  quite  willingly.  I  wonder  are  men  of  other  trades  so  en- 
amored of  theirs  ;  whether  lawyers  cling  to  the  last  to  their 
darling  reports  ;  or  writers  prefer  their  desks  and  inkstands 
to  society,  to  friendship,  to  dear  idleness  ?  I  have  seen  no 
men  in  life  loving  their  profession  so  much  as  painters, 
except,  perhaps,  actors,  who,  when  not  engaged  themselves, 
always  go  to  the  play. 

Be*^fore  this  busy  easel  Phil  would  sit  for  hours,  and  pour 
out  endless  talk  and  tobacco-smoke.  His  presence  was  a 
delight  to  Ridley's  soul ;  his  face  a  sunshine ;  his  voice  a 
cordial.  Weakly  himself,  and  almost  infirm  of  body,  with 
sensibilities  tremulously  keen,  the  painter  most  admired 
amongst  men  strength,  health,  good  spirits,  good  breeding. 
Of  these,  in  his  youth,  Philip  had  a  wealth  of  endowment ; 
and  I  hope  these  precious  gifts  of  fortune  have  not  left  him 
in  his  maturer  age.  I  do  not  say  that  with  all  men  Philip 
was  so  popular.  There  are  some  who  never  can  pardon 
good  fortune,  and  in  the  company  of  gentlemen  are  on  the 
Avatch  for  offence  ;  and,  no  doubt,  in  his  course  through 
life,  poor  downright  Phil  trampled  upon  corns  enough  of 
those  who  met  him  in  his  way.  "  Do  you  know  why  Rid- 
ley is  so  fond  of  Pirmin  ?  "  asked  Jarman.  "  Because  Fir- 
mi  n's  father  hangs  on  to  the  nobility  by  the  pulse,  whilst 
Ridley,  you  know,  is  connected  with  them  through  the 
sideboard."  So  Jarman  had  the  double  horn  for  his  adver- 
sary :  he  could  despise  a  man  for  not  being  a  gentleman, 
and  insult  him  for  being  one.  I  have  met  with  people  in 
the  world  with  whom  the  latter  offence  is  an  unpardonable 
crime  — a  cause  of  ceaseless  doubt,  division,  and  suspicion. 
What  more  common  or  natural,  Bufo,  than  to  hate  another 
for  being  what  you  are  not  ?  The  story  is  as  old  as  frogs, 
bulls,  and  men. 

Then,  to  be  sure,  besides  your  enviers  in  life,  there  are 
your  admirers.  Bej'ond  wit,  which  he  understood, —  be- 
yond genius,  which  he  had, —  Ridley  admired  good  looks 
and  manners,  and  always  kept  some  simple  hero  whom  he 
loved  secretly  to  cherish  and  worship.  He  loved  to  be 
amongst  beautiful  women  and  aristocratical  men.  Philip 
Pirmin,  with  his  republican  notions  and  downright  blunt- 
ness  of  behavior  to  all  men  of  rank  superior  to  him,  had  a 
grand  high  manner  of  his  own,  and  if  he  had  scarce  two- 


184  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

pence  in  his  pocket,  would  have  put  his  hands  in  them  with 
as  much  independence  as  the  greatest  dandy  who  ever  saun- 
tered on  Pall  Mall  pavement.  What  a  coolness  the  fellow 
had !  Some  men  may,  not  unreasonably,  have  thought  it 
impudence.  It  fascinated  Ridley.  To  be  such  a  man ;  to 
have  such  a  figure  and  manner ;  to  be  able  to  look  society  in 
the  face,  slap  it  on  the  shoulder,  if  you  were  so  minded,  and 
hold  it  by  the  button  —  what  would  not  Ridley  give  for 
such  powers  and  accomplishments  ?  You  will  please  to 
bear  in  mind,  I  am  not  saying  that  J.  J.  was  right,  only  that 
he  was  as  he  was.  I  hope  we  shall  have  nobody  in  this 
story  without  his  little  faults  and  peculiarities.  Jarman 
was  quite  right  when  he  said  Ridley  loved  fine  company. 
I  believe  his  pedigree  gave  him  secret  anguishes.  He 
would  rather  have  been  gentleman  than  genius  ever  so  great ; 
but  let  you  and  me,  who  have  no  weaknesses  of  our  own, 
try  and  look  charitably  on  this  confessed  foible  of  my 
friend. 

J.  J.  never  thought  of  rebuking  Philip  for  being  idle. 
Phil  was  as  the  lilies  of  the  field,  in  the  painter's  opinion. 
He  was  not  called  upon  to  toil  or  spin ;  but  to  take  his  ease, 
and  grow  and  bask  in  sunshine,  and  be  arrayed  in  glory. 
The  little  clique  of  painters  knew  what  Firmin's  means 
were.  Thirty  thousand  pounds  of  his  own.  Thirty  thou- 
sand pounds  down,  sir ;  and  the  inheritance  of  his  father's 
immense  fortune!  A  splendor  emanated  from  this  gifted 
young  man.  His  opinions,  his  jokes,  his  laughter,  his  song, 
had  the  weight  of  thirty  thousand  down,  sir;  and,  &c.,  «&c. 
What  call  had  he  to  work  ?  Would  you  set  a  young  noble- 
man to  be  an  apprentice  ?  Philip  was  free  to  be  as  idle  as 
any  lord,  if  he  liked.  He  ought  to  wear  fine  clothes,  ride 
fine  horses,  dine  off  plate,  and  drink  champagne  every  day. 
J.  J.  would  work  quite  cheerfully  till  sunset,  and  have  an 
eightpenny  plate  of  meat  in  Wardour  Street,  and  a  glass  of 
porter  for  his  humble  dinner.  At  the  "  Haunt,"  and  similar 
places  of  Bohemian  resort,  a  snug  place  near  the  fire  was 
always  found  for  Firmin.  Fierce  republican  as  he  was, 
Jarman  had  a  smile  for  his  lordship,  and  used  to  adopt  par- 
ticularly dandified  airs  when  he  had  been  invited  to  Old 
Parr  Street  to  dinner.  I  dare  say  Philip  liked  flattery.  I 
own  that  he  was  a  little  weak  in  this  respect,  and  that  you 
and  I,  my  dear  sir,  are,  of  conrse,  far  his  superiors.  J.  J., 
who  loved  him,  would  have  had  him  follow  his  aunt's  and 
cousin's  advice,  and  live  in  better  company ;  but  T  think  the 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        185 

painter  would  not  have  liked  his  pet  to  soil  his  hands  Avith 
too  iniich  work,  and  rather  admired  Mr.  Phil  for  being  idle. 
The  Little  Sister  gave  him  advice,  to  be  sure,  both  as  to 
the  company  he  should  keep  and  the  occupation  which  was 
wholesome  for  him.  But  when  others  of  his  acquaintance 
hinted  that  his  idleness  would  do  him  harm,  she  Avould  not 
hear  of  their  censure.  ''  AVhy  should  he  work  if  he  don't 
choose  ?  "  she  asked.  "He  has  no  call  to  be  scribbling  and 
scrabbling.  You  wouldn't  have  hi???,  sitting  all  day  paint- 
ing little  dolls'  heads  on  canvas,  and  working  like  a  slave. 
A  pretty  idea,  indeed  !  His  uncle  will  get  him  an  appoint- 
ment. That's  the  thing  he  should  have.  He  should  be 
secretary  to  an  ambassador  abroad,  and  he  ivill  be ! "  In 
fact  Phil,  at  this  x^eriod,  used  to  announce  his  wdsh  to  enter 
the  diplomatic  service,  and  his  hope  that  Lord  Eingwood 
would  further  his  views  in  that  respect.  Meanwhile  he  was 
the  king  of  Thornhaugh  Street.  He  might  be  as  idle  as  he 
chose,  and  Mrs.  Brandon  had  always  a  smile  for  him.  He 
might  smoke  a  great  deal  too  much,  but  she  worked  dainty 
little  cigar-cases  for  him.  She  hemmed  his  fine  cambric 
pocket-handkerchiefs,  and  embroidered  his  crest  at  the 
corners.  She  worked  him  a  waistcoat  so  splendid  that  he 
almost  blushed  to  wear  it,  gorgeous  as  he  was  in  apparel  at 
this  period,  and  sumptuous  in  chains,  studs,  and  haber- 
dashery. I  fear  Dr.  Firmin,  sighing  out  his  disappointed 
hopes  in  respect  of  his  son,  has  rather  good  cause  for  his 
dissatisfaction.  But  of  these  remonstrances  the  Little 
Sister  would  not  hear.  "  Idle,  why  not  ?  Why  should  he 
work  ?  Boys  will  be  boys.  I  dare  say  his  grumbling  old 
Pa  was  not  better  than  Philip  wdien  he  was  young !  "  And 
this  she  spoke  with  a  heightened  color  in  her  little  face,  and 
a  defiant  toss  of  her  head,  of  which  I  did  not  understand 
all  the  significance  then ;  but  attributed  her  eager  partisan- 
ship to  that  admirable  injustice  which  belongs  to  all  good 
women,  and  for  which  let  us  be  daily  thankful.  I  know, 
dear  ladies,  you  are  angry  at  this  statement.  But,  even  at 
the  risk  of  displeasing  you,  we  must  tell  the  truth.  You 
would  wish  to  represent  yourselves  as  equitable,  logical,  and 
strictly  just.  So  I  dare  say  Dr.  Johnson  would  have  liked 
]\Irs.  Thrale  to  say  to  him,  "  Sir,  your  manners  are  graceful ; 
your  person  elegant,  cleanly,  and  eminently  pleasing ;  your 
appetite  small  (especially  for  tea),  and  your  dancing  equal 
to  the  Violetta's ; "  which,  you  perceive,  is  merely  ironical. 
AVomen  equitable,  logical,  and  strictly  just !     Mercy  upon 


186  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

us  !  If  they  were,  population  would  cease,  the  world  would 
be  a  howling  wilderness.  Well,  in  a  word,  this  Little  Sister 
petted  and  coaxed  Philip  Firmin  in  such  an  absurd  way 
that  every  one  remarked  it  —  those  who  had  no  friends,  no 
sweethearts,  no  mothers,  no  daughters,  no  wives,  and  those 
who  were  petted,  and  coaxed,  and  spoiled  at  home  them- 
selves ;  as  I  trust,  dearly  beloved,  is  your  case. 

^STow,  again,  let  us  admit  that  Philip's  father  had  reason 
to  be  angry  with  the  boy,  and  deplore  his  son's  taste  for 
low  company ;  but  excuse  the  young  man,  on  the  other 
hand,  somewhat  for  his  fierce  revolt  and  profound  distaste 
at  much  in  his  home  circle  which  annoyed  him.  '"By 
heaven  ! "  he  would  roar  out,  pulling  his  hair  and  whiskers, 
and  with  many  fierce  ejaculations,  according  to  his  wont, 
"the  solemnity  of  those  humbugs  sickens  me  so,  that  I 
should  like  to  crown  the  old  bishop  with  the  soup-tureen, 
and  box  Baron  Bumpsher's  ears  with  the  saddle  of  mutton. 
At  my  aunt's,  the  humbug  is  just  the  same.  It's  better 
done,  perhaps ;  but  oh,  Pendennis  !  if  you  could  but  know 
the  pangs  which  tore  into  my  heart,  sir,  the  vulture  which 
gnawed  at  this  confounded  liver,  when  I  saw  women  — 
women  who  ought  to  be  pure  —  women  who  ought  to  be 
like  angels  —  women  who  ought  to  know  no  art  but  that  of 
coaxing  our  griefs  away  and  soothing  our  sorrows  —  fawn- 
ing, and  cringing,  and  scheming ;  cold  to  this  person,  hum- 
ble to  that,  flattering  to  the  rich,  and  indifferent  to  the 
humble  in  station.  I  tell  you  I  have  seen  all  this,  Mrs. 
Pendennis !  I  won't  mention  names,  but  I  have  met  with 
those  who  have  made  me  old  before  my  time  —  a  hundred 
years  old  !  The  zest  of  life  is  passed  from  me  "  (here  JNIr. 
Phil  would  gulp  a  bumper  from  the  nearest  decanter  at 
hand).  "  But  if  I  like  what  your  husband  is  pleased  to 
call  low  society,  it  is  because  I  have  seen  the  other.  I  have 
dangled  about  at  fine  parties,  and  danced  at  fashionable 
balls.  I  have  seen  mothers  bring  their  virgin  daughters  up 
to  battered  old  rakes,  and  ready  to  sacrifice  their  innocence 
for  fortune  or  a  title.  The  atmosphere  of  those  polite 
drawing-rooms  stifles  me.  I  can't  bow  the  knee  to  the 
horrible  old  Mammon.  I  walk  about  in  the  crowds  as  lonely 
as  if  I  was  in  a  wilderness ;  and  don't  begin  to  breathe  freely 
until  I  get  some  honest  tobacco  to  clear  the  air.  As  for 
your  husband"  (meaning  the  writer  of  this  memoir),  "he 
cannot  help  himself ;  he  is  a  worldling,  of  the  earth,  earthy. 
If  a  duke  were  to  ask  him  to  dinner  to-morrow,  the  parasite 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        187 

owns  that  lie  would  go.  Allow  me,  my  friends,  my  freedom, 
my  rougli  companions  in  their  work-day  clothes.  I  don't 
hear  such  lies  and  tiatteries  come  from  behind  pipes  as 
used  to  pass  from  above  white  chokers  when  I  was  in  the 
world."  And  he  would  tear  at  his  cravat,  as  though  the 
mere  thought  of  the  world's  conventionality  well-nigh 
strangled  him. 

This,  to  be  sure,  was  in  a  late  stage  of  his  career,  but  I 
take  up  the  biography  here  and  there,  so  as  to  give  the  best 
idea  I  may  of  my  friend's  character.  At  this  time  —  he  is 
out  of  the  country  just  now,  and  besides,  if  he  saw  his  own 
likeness  staring  him  in  the  face,  I  am  confident  he  would 
not  know  it — Mr.  Philip,  in  some  things,  was  as  obstinate 
as  a  mule,  and  in  others  as  weak  as  a  woman.  He  had  a 
childish  sensibility  for  what  w^as  tender,  helpless,  pretty,  or 
pathetic;  and  a  mighty  scorn  of  imposture,  wherever  he 
found  it.  He  had  many  good  purposes,  which  were  often 
very  vacillating,  and  were  but  seldom  performed.  He  had 
a  vast  number  of  evil  habits,  whereof,  you  know,  idleness 
is  said  to  be  the  root.  Many  of  these  evil  propensities  he 
coaxed  and  cuddled  with  much  care  ;  and  though  he  roared 
OMt  2^eccavi  mo?>t  frankly  when  charged  with  his  sins,  this 
criminal  would  fall  to  peccation  very  soon  after  promising 
amendment.  What  he  liked  he  would  have.  What  he  dis- 
liked he  could  with  the  greatest  difficulty  be  found  to  do. 
He  liked  good  dinners,  good  wine,  good  horses,  good  clothes, 
and  late  hours ;  and  in  all  these  comforts  of  life  (or  any 
others  which  he  fancied,  or  which  were  within  his  means) 
he  indulged  himself  with  perfect  freedom.  He  hated 
hypocrisy  on  his  own  part,  and  hypocrites  in  general.  He 
said  everything  that  came  into  his  mind  about  things  and 
people ;  and,  of  course,  was  often  wrong  and  often  preju- 
diced, and  often  occasioned  howls  of  indignation  or  malig- 
nant Avhispers  of  hatred  by  his  free  speaking.  He  believed 
everything  that  was  said  to  him  until  his  informant  had  mis- 
led him  once  or  twice,  after  which  he  would  believe  noth- 
ing. And  here  you  will  see  that  his  impetuous  credulity  was 
as  absurd  as  the  subsequent  obstinacy  of  his  unbelief.  INIy 
dear  young  friend,  the  profitable  way  in  life  is  the  middle 
way.  Don't  quite  believe  anybody,  for  he  may  mislead  you ; 
neither  disbelieve  him,  for  that  is  uncomplimentary  to  your 
friend.  ]51ack  is  not  so  very  black ;  and  as  for  white,  hon 
Dieu  !  in  our  climate  what  paint  will  remain  white  long  ? 
If  Philip  was  self-indulgent,  I  suppose  other  peoj^le  are 


188  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 

self-indulgent  likewise:  and  besides,  you  know,  your  fault- 
less heroes  have  ever  so  long  gone  out  of  fashion.  To  be 
young,  to  be  good-looking,  to  be  healthy,  to  be  hungry  three 
times  a  day,  to  have  plenty  of  money,  a  great  alacrity  of 
sleeping,  and  nothing  to  do  —  all  these,  I  dare  say,  are  very 
dangerous  temptations  to  a  man,  but  I  think  I  know  some 
wdio  w^ould  like  to  undergo  the  dangers  of  the  trial.  Sup- 
pose there  be  holidays,  is  there  not  work-time  too  ?  Suppose 
to-day  is  feast-day ;  may  not  tears  and  repentance  come  to- 
morrow ?  Such  times  are  in  store  for  Master  Phil,  and  so 
please  to  let  him  have  rest  and  comfort  for  a  chapter  or 
two. 


CHAPTEE  VII. 


IMPLETUR  VETERIS  BACCHI. 


m^ 


HAT  time,  that  merry 
time,  of  Brandon's,  of 
Bohemia,  of  oysters,  of 
idleness,  of  smoking,  of 
song  at  night  and  pro- 
fuse soda-water  in  the 
morning,  of  a  pillow, 
lonely  and  bachelor  it 
is  true,  but  with  few 
cares  for  bedfellows,  of 
plenteous  pocket- 
money,  of  ease  for  to- 
day and  little  heed  for 
to-morrow,  was  often 
remembered  by  Philip 
in  after  days.  Mr. 
PhiTs  views  of  life  were 
not  very  exalted,  were 
they?  The  fruits  of 
^  this  world,  which  he 
devoured  with  such 
gusto,  I  must  own  were 
of  the  common  kitchen- 
garden  sort ;  and  the 
lazy  rogue's  ambition  went  no  farther  than  to  stroll  along 
the  sunshiny  wall,  eat  his  fill,  and  then  repose  comfortably 
in  the  arbor  under  the  arched  vine.  Why  did  Phil's  mother's 
parents  leave  her  thirty  thousand  pounds  ?  I  dare  say 
some  misguided  people  would  be  glad  to  do  as  much  for 
their  sons ;  but,  if  I  have  ten,  I  am  determined  they  shall 
either  have  a  hundred  thousand  apiece,  or  else  bare  bread 
and  cheese.  "Man  was  made  to  labor,  and  to  be  lazy," 
Phil  Avould  affirm  with  his  usual  energy  of  expression. 
"  When  the  Indian  warrior  goes  on  the  hunting  path,  he  is 

189 


190  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

sober,  active,  indomitable.  No  dangers  fright  him,  and 
no  labors  tire.  He  endures  the  cold  of  the  winter ;  he 
couches  on  the  forest  leaves ;  he  subsists  on  frugal  roots  or 
the  casual  spoil  of  his  bow.  When  he  returns  to  his 
village,  he  gorges  to  repletion;  he  sleeps,  perhaps,  to 
excess.  When  the  game  is  devoured,  and  the  fire-water 
exhausted,  again  he  stJlies  forth  into  the  wilderness ;  he 
outclimbs  the  'possum  and  he  throttles  the  bear.  I  am  the 
Indian :  and  this  '  Haunt '  is  my  wigwam  !  Barbara,  my 
squaw,  bring  me  oysters ;  bring  me  a  jug  of  the  frothing 
black  beer  of  the  pale  faces,  or  I  will  hang  up  thy  scalp  on 
my  tent-pole  ! "  And  old  Barbara,  the  good  old  attendant 
of  this  "  Haunt "  of  Bandits,  would  say,  "  Law,  Mr.  Philip, 
how  you  do  go  on,  to  be  sure  !  "  Where  is  the  "  Haunt " 
now  ?  and  where  are  the  merry  men  all  who  there  assem- 
bled ?  The  sign  is  down ;  the  song  is  silent ;  the  sand  is 
swept  from  the  floor ;  the  pipes  are  broken,  and  the  ashes 
are  scattered. 

A  little  more  gossip  about  his  merry  days,  and  we  have 
done.  He,  Philip,  was  called  to  the  bar  in  due  course,  and 
at  his  call-supper  we  assembled  a  dozen  of  his  elderly  and 
youthful  friends.  The  chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings 
Avere  given  up  to  him  for  this  day.  Mr.  Van  John,  I  think, 
was  away  attending  a  steeple-chase  ;  but  Mr.  Cassidy  was 
with  us,  and  several  of  Philip's  acquaintances  of  school, 
college,  and  the  world.  There  w^as  Philip's  father,  and 
Philip's  uncle  Twysden,  and  I,  Phil's  revered  and  respectable 
school  senior,  and  others  of  our  ancient  seminary.  There 
was  Burroughs,  the  second  wrangler  of  his  year,  great  in 
metaphysics,  greater  with  the  knife  and  fork.  There  was 
Stackpole,  Eblana's  favorite  child  —  the  glutton  of  all 
learning,  the  master  of  many  languages,  who  stuttered  and 
blushed  when  he  spoke  his  own.  There  was  Pinkerton, 
who,  albeit  an  ignoramus  at  the  university,  was  already 
winning  prodigious  triumphs  at  the  Parliamentary  bar,  and 
investing  in  Consols  to  the  admiration  of  all  his  contem- 
poraries. There  was  Rosebury  the  beautiful,  the  May-Fair 
pet  and  delight  of  Almack's,  the  cards  on  whose  mantel-piece 
made  all  men  open  the  eyes  of  wonder,  and  some  of  us  dart 
the  scowl  of  envy.  There  was  my  Lord  Egham,  Lord 
Ascot's  noble  son.  There  was  Tom  Dale,  who,  having 
carried  on  his  university  career  too  splendidly,  had  come  to 
grief  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  was  now  meekly  earning  his 
bread  in  the  reporters'  gallery,  alongside  of  Cassidy.    There 


ox  ins    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        191 

was  Macbride,  wlio,  liaving  thrown  up  his  fellowship  and 
married  his  cousin,  was  now  doing  a  brave  battle  Avith 
poverty,  and  making  literature  feed  him  until  law  should 
reward  him  more  splendidly.  There  was  Haythorn,  the 
country  gentleman,  who  ever  remembered  his  old  college 
chums,  and  kejjt  the  memory  of  that  friendship  up  by 
constant  reminders  of  pheasants  and  game  in  the  season. 
There  were  Kaby  and  Maj^nard  from  the  Guards'  Club 
(Maynard  sleeps  now  under  Crimean  snows),  who  preferred 
arms  to  the  toga,  but  carried  into  their  military  life  the 
love  of  their  old  books,  the  affection  of  their  old  friends. 
Most  of  these  must  be  mute  personages  in  our  little  drama. 
Could  an}^  chronicler  remember  the  talk  of  all  of  them  ? 

Several  of  the  guests  present  were  members  of  the  Inn  of 
Court  (the  Upper  Temple),  which  had  conferred  on  Philip 
the  degree  of  B arris ter-at-Law.  He  had  dined  in  his  wig  and 
gown  (Blackmore's  wig  and  gown)  in  the  inn-hall  that  day, 
in  company  with  other  members  of  his  inn;  and,  dinner 
over,  we  adjourned  to  Phil's  chambers  in  Parchment  Build- 
ings, where  a  dessert  was  served,  to  which  Mr.  Firmin's 
friends  were  convoked. 

The  wines  came  from  Dr.  Firmin's  cellar.  His  servants 
were  in  attendance  to  wait  upon  the  company.  Father  and 
son  both  loved  splendid  hospitalities,,  and,  so  far  as  creature 
comforts  went,  Philip's  feast  Avas  richly  provided.  "A 
supper,  I  love  a  supper  of  all  things  !  And  in  order  that  I 
might  enjoy  yours,  I  only  took  a  single  mutton-chop  for 
dinner !  "  cried  Mr.  Twysden,  as  he  greeted  Philij).  Indeed, 
we  found  him,  as  we  arrived  from  Hall,  already  in  the 
chambers,  and  eating  the  young  barrister's  dessert.  "  He's 
been  here  ever  so  long,"  says  Mr.  Brice,  who  officiated 
as  butler,  "  pegging  away  at  the  olives  and  macaroons. 
Shouldn't  wonder  if  he  has  pocketed  some."  There  was 
small  respect  on  the  part  of  Brice  for  Mr.  Twysden,  whom 
the  worthy  butler  franklj-  pronounced  to  be  a  stingy 
'umbug.  Meanwhile,  Talbot  believed  that  the  old  man 
respected  him,  and  always  conversed  with  Brice,  and 
treated  him  with  a  cheerful  cordiality. 

The  outer  Philistines  quickly  arrived,  and  but  that  the 
wine  and  men  were  older,  one  might  have  fancied  one's  self 
at  a  college  wine-party.  Mr.  Twysden  talked  for  the  whole 
company.  He  was  radiant.  He  felt  himself  in  high  spirits. 
He  did  the  honors  of  Philip's  table.  Indeed,  no  man  was 
more  hospitable  with  other   folks'  wine.      Philip  himself 


192  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

was  silent  and  nervous.  I  asked  him  if  the  awful  ceremony, 
which  he  had  just  undergone  was  weighing  on  his  mind  ? 

He  was  looking  rather  anxiously  towards  the  door ;  and, 
knowing  somewhat  of  the  state  of  affairs  at  home,  I  thought 
that  probably  he  and  his  father  had  had  one  of  the  disputes 
which  of  late  days  had  become  so  frequent  between  them. 

The  company  were  nearly  all  assembled  and  busy  with 
their  talk,  and  drinking  the  doctor's  excellent  claret,  when 
Brice,  entering,  announced  Dr.  Firmin  and  Mr.  Tufton 
Hunt. 

"  Hang  Mr.  Tufton  Hunt,"  Philip  was  going  to  say ;  but 
he  started  up,  went  forward  to  his  father,  and  greeted  him 
very  respectfully.  He  then  gave  a  bow  to  the  gentleman 
introduced  as  Mr.  Hunt,  and  they  found  places  at  the  table, 
the  doctor  taking  his  with  his  usual  handsome  grace. 

The  conversation,  which  had  been  pretty  brisk  until  Dr. 
Firmin  came,  drooped  a  little  after  his  appearance.  "We 
had  an  awful  row  two  days  ago,"  Philip  whispered  to  me. 
'•  We  shook  hands  and  are  reconciled,  as  you  see.  He  won't 
stay  long.  He  will  be  sent  for  in  half  au  hour  or  so.  He 
will  say  he  has  been  sent  for  by  a  duchess,  and  go  and  have 
tea  at  the  club." 

Dr.  Firmin  bowed  and  smiled  sadly  at  me,  as  Philip  .vas 
speaking.  I  dare  say  I  blushed  somewhat  and  felt  as  if  the 
doctor  knew  what  his  son  was  saying  to  me.  He  presently 
engaged  in  conversation  with  Lord  Egham ;  he  hoped  his 
good  father  was  well  ? 

"You  keep  him  so,  doctor.  You  don't  give  a  fellow  a 
chance,'^  says  the  young  lord. 

"  Pass  the  bottle,  you  young  men  !  Hey  !  We  intend  to 
see  you  all  out ! "  cries  Talbot  Twysden,  on  pleasure  bent 
and  of  the  frugal  mind. 

"Well  said,  sir,"  says  the  stranger  introduced  as  Mr. 
Hunt;  "and  right  good  wine.  Ha,  Firmin!  I  think  I 
know  the  tap ! "  and  he  smacked  his  lips  over  the  claret. 
"  It's  your  twenty-five,  and  no  mistake." 

"The  red-nosed  individual  seems  a  connoisseur,"  whis- 
pered Rosebury  at  my  side. 

The  stranger's  nose,  indeed,  was  somewhat  rosy.  And 
to  this  I  may  add  that  his  clothes  were  black,  his  face  pale, 
and  not  well  shorn,  his  white  neckcloth  dingy,  and  his 
eyes  bloodshot. 

"  He  looks  as  if  he  had  gone  to  bed  in  his  clothes,  and 
carries  a  plentiful   flue  about  his  person.     Who  is   your 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH  THE    WORLD.        193 

father's  esteemed  friend  ?  "  continues  the  wag,  in  an  under 
voice. 

''  You  heard  his  name,  Eosebury,"  saj's  the  young  barris- 
ter, gloomily. 

'•  i  should  suggest  that  your  father  is  in  difficulties,  and 
attended  by  an  officer  of  the  sheriff  of  London,  or  perhaps 
subject  to  mental  aberration,  and  placed  under  the  control 
of  a  keeper." 

"  Leave  me  alone,  do ! "  groaned  Philip.  And  here 
Twysden,  who  w^as  longing  for  an  opportunity  to  make  a 
speech,  bounced  up  from  his  chair,  and  stopped  the  face- 
tious barrister's  furtlier  remarks  by  his  own  eloquence. 
His  discourse  was  in  praise  of  Pliilip,  the  new-made  bar- 
rister. "What!  if  no  one  else  w^ill  give  that  toast,  your 
uncle  will,  and  many  a  heartfelt  blessing  go  with  you,  too, 
my  boy  !  "  cried  the  little  man.  He  was  prodigal  of  bene- 
dictions. He  dashed  aside  the  tear-drop  of  emotion.  He 
spoke  with  perfect  fluency  and  for  a  considerable  period. 
He  really  made  a  good  speech,  and  was  greeted  with  de- 
served cheers  when  at  length  he  sat  down. 

Phil  stammered  a  few  words  in  reply  to  his  uncle's  vol- 
uble compliments ;  and  then  Lord  Ascot,  a  young  nobleman 
of  much  familiar  humor,  proposed  Pliil's  father,  his  health, 
and  song.  The  physician  naade  a  neat  speech  from  behind 
liis  ruffled  shirt.  He  was  agitated  by  the  tender  feelings 
of  a  paternal  heart,  he  said,  glancing  benignly  at  Phil,  who 
was  cracking  filberts.  To  see  his  son  happy ;  to  see  him 
surrounded  by  such  friends ;  to  know  him  embarked  this 
day  in  a  profession  which  gave  the  greatest  scope  for  tal- 
ents, the  noblest  reward  for  industry,  was  a  proud  and 
hapi)y  moment  to  him.  Dr.  Pirmin.  What  has  the  poet  ob- 
served ?  '^  Ingenuas  didicisse  fideliter  artes'^  (hear!  hear!) 
'^emoUif.  mores,''  —  yes,  '•^  emollit  mores.'''  He  drank  a 
bumper  to  the  young  barrister  (he  waved  his  ring,  with 
a  thimbleful  of  wine  in  his  glass).  He  pledged  the 
young  friends  whom  he  saw  assembled  to  cheer  his 
son  on  his  onward  path.  He  thanked  them  with  a 
father's  heart!  He  passed  his  emerald  ring  across  his 
eyes  for  a  moment,  and  lifted  them  to  the  ceiling,  from 
which  quarter  he  requested  a  blessing  on  his  boy.  As 
though  "spirits"  approved  of  his  invocation,  immense 
thumps  came  from  above  along  with  the  plaudits  which 
salutad  the  doctor's  speech  from  the  gentlemen  round  the 
table.     But   the   upper  thumps  v/ere   derisory,  and   came 

VOL.    I.  — 13 


194  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

from  Mr.  Buffers,  of  the  third  floor,  who  chose  this  method 
of  mocking  our  harmless  little  festivities. 

I  think  these  cheers  from  the  facetious  Buffers,  though 
meant  in  scorn  of  our  party,  served  to  enliven  it  and  make 
us  laugh.  Spite  of  all  the  talking,  we  were  dull,  and  I 
could  not  but  allow  the  force  of  my  neighbor's  remark, 
that  we  Avere  sat  upon  and  smothered  by  the  old  men. 
One  or  two  of  the  younger  gentlemen  chafed  at  the  license 
for  tobacco-smoking  not  being  yet  accorded.  But  Philip 
interdicted  this  amusement  as'  yet. 

*'  Don't,"  he  said ;  "  my  father  don't  like  it.  He  has  to 
see  patients  to-night ;  and  they  can't  bear  the  smell  of  to- 
bacco b}^  their  bedsides." 

The  impatient  youths  waited  with  their  cigar-cases  by 
their  sides.  They  longed  for  the  withdrawal  of  the  ob- 
stacle to  their  happiness. 

"He  won't  go,  I  tell  you.  He'll  be  sent  for,"  growled 
Philip  to  me. 

The  doctor  was  engaged  in  conversation  to  the  right  and 
left  of  him,  and  seemed  not  to  think  of  a  move.  But,  sure 
enough,  at  a  few  minutes  after  ten  o'clock,  Dr.  Firmin's  foot- 
man entered  the  room  v/ith  a  note,  which  Firmin  opened 
and  read,  as  Philip  looked  at  me  with  a  grim  humor  in  his 
face.  I  think  Phil's  father  knew  that  we  knew  he  was 
•  acting.  However,  he  went  through  the  comedy  quite 
gravely. 

"A  physician's  time  is  not  his  own,"  he  said,  shaking 
his  handsome,  melancholy  head.  ''  Good-by,  my  dear  lord ! 
Pray  remember  me  at  home  !  Good-night,  Philip,  my  boy, 
and  good  speed  to  you  in  your  career !  Pray,  pray  don't 
move." 

And  he  is  gone,  waving  the  fair  hand  and  the  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  with  the  beautiful  white  lining.  Phil  con- 
ducted him  to  the  door,  and  heaved  a  sigh  as  it  closed 
upon  his  father  —  a  sigh  of  relief,  I  think,  that  he  was 
gone. 

"  Exit  Governor.  What's  the  Latin  for  Governor  ?  "  says 
Lord  Egham,  who  possessed  much  native  humor,  but  not 
very  profound  scholarshi]).  ''  A  most  venerable  old  parent, 
Firmin.  That  hat  and  appearance  would  command  any 
sum  of  money." 

"Excuse  me,"  lis])S  Eosebury,  "but  Avhy  didn't  he  take 
his  elderly  friend  with  him  —  the  dilapidated  clerical  gen- 
tleman wiio  is  drinking  claret  so  freely  ?     And  also,  why 


OiV  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WOULD.        195 

did  he  not  remove  3^0111-  avuncular  orator  ?  Mr.  Twysden, 
your  interesting  young  neophyte  has  provided  us  with  an 
excellent  specimen  of  the  cheerful  produce  of  the  Gascon 
grape." 

"  Well,  then,  now  the  old  gentleman  is  gone,  let  us  pass 
the  bottle,  and  make  a  night  of  it.  Hey,  my  lord  ?  "  cries 
Twysden.  "  Philip,  your  claret  is  good  !  I  say,  do  you  re- 
member some  Chateau  Margaux  I  had,  which  Winton  liked 
so  ?  It  must  be  good  if  he  praised  it,  I  can  tell  you.  I  im- 
ported it  myself,  and  gave  him  the  address  of  the  Bordeaux 
merchant;  and  he  said  he  had  seldom  tasted  any  like 
it.  Those  were  his  very  words.  I  must  get  you  fellows  to 
come  and  taste  it  some  day." 

"  Some  day  !  What  day  ?  Name  it,  generous  Amphit- 
ryon ! "  cries  Rosebury. 

"  Some  day  at  seven  o'clock.  With  a  plain,  quiet  dinner 
— a  clear  soup,  a  bit  of  fish,  a  couple  of  little  entrees,  and  a 
nice  little  roast.  That's  my  kind  of  dinner.  And  we'll 
taste  that  claret,  young  men.  It  is  not  a  heavy  wine.  It 
is  not  a  first-class  wine.  I  don't  mean  even  to  say  it  is  a 
dear  wine,  but  it  has  a  bouquet  and  a  pureness.  What,  you 
will  smoke,  you  fellows  ?  " 

"  \Ve  ivUl  do  it,  ^fr.  Twysden.  Better  do  as  the  rest  of 
us  do.     Try  one  of  these." 

The  little  man  accepts  the  proffered  cigar  from  the  young 
nobleman's  box,  lights  it,  hems  and  hawks,  and  lapses  into 
silence. 

''I  thought  that  would  do  for  him,"  murmurs  the  face- 
tious Egham.  "  It  is  strong  enough  to  blow  his  old  head 
off,  and  I  wish  it  would.  That  cigar,"  he  continues,  "  was 
given  to  my  father  by  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  who 
had  it  out  of  the  Queen  of  Spain's  own  box.  She  smokes  a 
good  deal,  but  naturally  likes  'em  mild.  I  can  give  you  a 
stronger  one." 

''  Oh,  no.  I  dare  say  this  is  very  fine.  Thank  you ! " 
says  poor  Talbot. 

"  Leave  him  alone,  can't  you ! "  says  Philip.  "  Don't  make 
a  fool  of  him  before  the  young  men,  Egham." 

Philip  still  looked  very  dismal  in  the  midst  of  the  festiv- 
ity. He  was  thinking  of  his  differences  with  his  absent 
parent. 

AVe  might  all  have  been  easily  consoled,  if  the  doctor 
had  taken  away  with  him  the  elderly  companion  whom  he 
had  introduced  to  Phil's  feast.     He  could  not  have  been 


196  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

very  welcome  to  our  host,  for  Phil  scoAvled  at  his  guest,  and 
whispered,  "  Hang  Hunt !  "  to  his  neighbor. 

"Hang  Hunt"  —  the  Eeverend  Tufton  Hunt  was  his 
name  —  was  in  no  wise  disconcerted  by  the  coolness  of  his 
reception.  He  drank  his  wine  very  freely ;  addressed  him- 
self to  his  neighbors  affably  5  and  called  out  a  loud  "  Hear, 
hear ! "  to  Twysden,  when  that  gentleman  announced  his 
intention  of  making  a  night  of  it.  As  Mr.  Hunt  warmed 
with  wine  he  spoke  to  the  table.  He  talked  a  great  deal 
about  the  Eingwood  family,  had  been  very  intimate  at 
Wingate,  in  old  days,  and  an  intimate  friend  of  poor  Cinq- 
bars,  Lord  Ringwood's  only  son.  Now,  the  memory  of  the 
late  Lord  Cinqbars  was  not  an  agreeable  recollection  to  the 
relatives  of  the  house  of  Eingwood.  He  was  in  life  a  dis- 
sipated and  disreputable  young  lord.  His  name  was  seldom 
mentioned  in  his  family;  never  by  his  father,  with  whom  he 
had  had  many  quarrels. 

"You  know  I  introduced  Cinqbars  to  your  father, 
Philip  ?  "  calls  out  the  dingy  clergyman. 

"I  have  heard  you  mention  the  fact,"  says  Philip. 

"  They  met  at  a  wine  in  my  rooms  at  Corpus.  Brummell 
Firmin  we  used  to  call  your  father  in  those  days.  He  was 
the  greatest  buck  in  the  university  —  always  a  dressy  man, 
kept  hunters,  gave  the  best  dinners  in  Cambridge.  We 
were  a  wild  set.  There  was  Cinqbars,  Brand  Firmin, 
Beryl,  Toplady,  about  a  dozen  of  us,  almost  all  noblemen 
or  fellow-commoners  —  fellows  Avho  all  kept  their  horses 
and  had  their  private  servants." 

This  speech  was  addressed  to  the  company,  who  yet  did 
not  seem  much  edified  by  the  college  recollections  of  the 
dingy  elderly  man. 

"Almost  all  Trinity  men,  sir!  We  dined  with  each 
other  week  about.  Many  of  them  had  their  tandems. 
Desperate  fellow  across  countrj^  your  father  was.  And  — 
but  we  won't  tell  tales  out  of  school,  hey  ?  " 

"No,  please  don't,  sir,"  said  Philip,  clenching  his  fists 
and  biting  his  lips.  The  shabby,  ill-bred,  swaggering  man 
was  eating  Philip's  salt ;  Phil's  lordly  ideas  of  hospitality 
did  not  allow  him  to  quarrel  with  the  guest  under  his  tent. 

"  When  he  went  out  in  medicine,  we  were  all  of  us  as- 
tonished. Why,  sir.  Brand  Firmin  at  one  time  was  the 
greatest  swell  in  the  university,"  continued  Mr.  Hunt, 
"  and  such  a  plucky  fellow !  So  was  poor  Cinqbars,  though 
he  had  no  stamina.     He,  I,  and  Firmin   fought  for  twenty 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        197 

minutes  before  Caius'  Gate  with  about  twenty  bargemen, 
and  you  should  have  seen  your  father  hit  out !  I  was  a 
handy  one  in  those  days,  too,  with  my  fingers.  We  learned 
the  noble  art  of  self-defence  in  my  time,  young  gentlemen ! 
AVe  used  to  have  Glover,  the  boxer,  down  from  London, 
who  gave  us  lessons.  Cinqbars  was  a  pretty  sparrer  — 
but  no  stamina.  Brandy  killed  him,  sir  —  brandy  killed 
him !  Why,  this  is  some  of  your  governor's  wine !  He 
and  I  have  been  drinking  it  to-night  in  Parr  Street,  and 
talking  over  old  times." 

'•  I  am  glad,  sir,  you  found  the  wine  to  your  taste,"  says 
Philip,  gravely. 

"I  did,  Philip  my  boy  !  And  when  your  father  said  he 
was  coming  to  your  wine,  I  said  I'd  come  too." 

"  I  wish  somebody  would  fling  him  out  of  window," 
groaned  Philip. 

"  A  most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  senior,"  whispered 
Kosebury  to  me.  "  I  read  billiards,  Boulogne,  gambling- 
houses,  in  his  noble  lineaments.  Has  he  long  adorned  your 
family  circle,  Firmin  ?  " 

"  I  found  him  at  home  about  a  month  ago,  in  my  father's 
anteroom,  in  the  same  clothes,  with  a  pair  of  mangy  mous- 
taches on  his  face  ;  and  he  has  been  at  our  house  every  day 
since. '^ 

"Echap2)e  de  Toulon,^^  says  Eosebury,  blandly,  looking 
towards  the  stranger.  ^'  Cela  se  voit.  Homme iniv fait ement 
distingue.  You  are  quite  right,  sir.  I  Avas  speaking  of 
you ;  and  asking  our  friend  Philip  where  it  was  I  had  the 
honor  of  meeting  you  abroad  last  year  ?  This  courtesy," 
he  gently  added,  "  will  disarm  tigers." 

"  I  ivas  abroad,  sir,  last  year,"  said  the  other,  nodding  his 
head. 

"  Three  to  one  he  was  in  Boulogne  jail,  or  perhaps  offi- 
ciating chaplain  at  a  gambling-house.  Stop,  I  have  it ! 
Baden  Baden,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  was  there,  safe  enough,"  says  the  clergyman.  "  It  is 
a  very  pretty  place ;  but  the  air  of  the  Aj^res  kills  you. 
Ha !  ha !  Your  father  used  to  shake  his  elbow  when  he  was 
a  youngster  too,  Philip  !  I  can't  help  calling  you  Philip. 
I  have  known  your  father  these  thirty  3'ears.  We  were 
college  chums,  you  know." 

"  Ah  !  what  n-ould  I  give,"  sighs  Kosebury,  "  if  that  vener- 
able being  would  but  address  me  by  my  Christian  name ! 
Philip,  do  something  to  make  your  party  go.     The  old  gen- 


198  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

tlemen  are  throttling  it.  Sing  something,  somebody  !  or  let 
us  drown  our  melancholy  in  wine.  You  expressed  your  ap- 
probation of  this  claret,  sir,  and  claimed  a  previous  acquaint- 
ance with  it  ?  " 

"  I've  drunk  two  dozen  of  it  in  the  last  month,"  says  Mr. 
Hunt,  with  a  grin. 

"  Two  dozen  and  four,  sir,"  remarks  Mr.  Brice,  putting  a 
fresh  bottle  on  the  table. 

"  Well  said,  Brice  !  I  make  the  Firmin  Arms  my  hea.d- 
quarters;  and  honor  the  landlord  with  a  good  deal  of  my 
company,"  remarks  Mr.  Hunt. 

"  The  Firmin  Arms  is  honored  by  having  such  sup- 
porters !  "  says  Phil,  glaring,  and  with  a  heaving  chest.  At 
each  moment  he  was  growing  more  and  more  angry  with 
that  parson. 

At  a  certain  stage  of  conviviality  Phil  was  fond  of  talk- 
ing of  his  pedigree;  and,  though  a  professor  of  very  lib- 
eral opinions,  was  not  a  little  proud  of  some  of  his  an- 
cestors. 

"  Oh,  come,  I  say !  Sink  the  heraldry ! "  cries  Lord 
Eghani. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  !  I  would  do  anything  to  oblige  you, 
but  I  can't  help  being  a  gentleman  ! "  growls  Philip. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  if  you  intend  to  come  King  Richard  III.  over 
us — "  breaks  out  my  lord. 

"  Egham !  your  ancestors  were  sweeping  counters  when 
mine  stood  by  King  Richard  in  that  righteous  fight !  "  shouts 
Philip. 

That  monarch  had  conferred  lands  upon  the  Ringwood 
family.  Richard  III.  was  Philip's  battle-horse ;  when  he 
trotted  it  after  dinner  he  was  splendid  in  his  chivalry. 

^'  Oh,  I  say !  If  you  are  to  saddle  White  Surrey,  fight 
Bosworth  Field,  and  murder  the  kids  in  the  Tower  !  "  con- 
tinues Lord  Egham. 

"  Serve  the  little  brutes  right !  "  roars  Phil.  "  They  were 
no  more  heirs  of  the  blood  royal  of  England  than  — " 

"I  dare  say!  Only  I'd  rather  have  a  song  now  the  old 
boy  is  gone.  I  say,  you  fellows,  chant  something,  do  now  ! 
Bar  all  this  row  about  Bosworth  Field  and  Richard  the 
Third!  Always  does  it  when  he's  beer  on  board  —  always 
does  it,  give  you  my  honor  !  "  whispers  the  young  nobleman 
to  his  neighbor. 

"  I  am  a  fool !  I  am  a  fool !  "  cries  Phil,  smacking  his 
forehead.     "There  are  moments  when  the  wrongs  of  my 


ON  Ills    ]VAY  THROUGH   THE    WOULD.        199 

race  will  intervene.  It's  not  your  fault,  Mr.  What-d'ye- 
call-'im,  that  you  alluded  to  my  arms  in  a  derisive  manner. 
I  bear  you  no  malice  !  Nay,  1  ask  your  pardon !  Nay  !  I 
pledge  you  in  this  claret,  which  is  good,  though  it's  my  gov- 
ernor's. In  our  house  everything  isn't,  hum  —  Bosh  !  it's 
twenty-hve  claret,  sir  !  Egham's  father  gave  him  a  pipe  of 
it  for  saving  a  life  Avhich  might  be  better  spent ;  and  I 
believe  the  apothecary  would  have  pulled  you  through,  Eg- 
liam,  just  as  well  as  my  governor.  But  the  wine's  good ! 
Good  !  Brice,  some  more  claret !  A  song !  Who  spoke  of 
a  song  ?  Warble  us  something,  Tom  Dale !  A  song,  a 
song,  a  song  !  " 

Whereupon  the  exquisite  ditty  of  "  Moonlight  on  the 
Tiles"  was  given  by  Tom  Dale  with  all  his  accustomed 
humor.  Then  politeness  demanded  that  our  host  should 
sing  one  of  his  songs,  and  as  I  have  heard  him  perform  it 
many  times,  I  have  the  privilege  of  here  reprinting  it :  pre- 
mising that  the  tune  and  chorus  were  taken  from  a  German 
song-book,  which  used  to  delight  us  melodious  youth  in 
b\^-gone  d-^js.  Philip  accordingly  lifted  up  his  great  voice 
and  sang :  — 

"DOCTOR  LUTHER. 

"  For  the  souFs  edification 
Of  this  decent  congregation, 
"Worthy  people!  hy  your  grant, 
1  will  sing  a  holy  chant. 

Lwill  shig  a  h)ly  chant. 
If  the  dittysound  but  oddly. 
'Twiis  a  father  wise  and  godly, 
Sang  it  so  Ions:  ago. 

Then  sing  as  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

"Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song, 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long. 

*'  He,  by  custom  patriarchal. 
Loved  to  see  the  beaker  sparkle, 
And  he  thought  the  wine  improved, 
Tasted  Ijy  the  wife  he  loved. 

By  the  kindly  lii)s  he  loved. 
Friends!  I  wish  this  custom  pious 
Duly  were  adopted  by  us, 
To  combine  love,  song,  wine; 

And  sing  as  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

Wlio  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song, 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long. 


200  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

"  Who  refuses  this  our  credo, 
And  demurs  to  drink  as  we  do, 
AVere  lie  holy  as  John  Knox, 
I'd  pronounce  him  lieterodox, 

I'd  pronounce  him  heterodox. 
And  from  out  this  congregation, 
"With  a  solemn  commination, 
Banish  quick  the  heretic. 

Who  would  not  sing  as  Luther  sang, 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang. 

Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song, 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  lona:." 


The  reader's  humble  servant  ^vas  older  than  most  of  the 
party  assembled  at  this  symposium,  which  may  have  taken 
place  some  score  of  years  back ;  but  as  I  listened  to  the 
noise,  the  fresh  laughter,  the  songs  remembered  out  of  old 
university  days,  the  talk  and  cant  phrases  of  the  old  school 
of  which  most  of  us  had  been  disciples,  dear  me,  I  felt 
quite  young  again,  and  when  certain  knocks  came  to  the 
door  about  midnight,  enjoyed  quite  a  refreshing  pang  of 
anxious  interest  for  a  moment,  deeming  the  proctors  were 
rapping,  having  heard  our  shouts  in  the  court  below.  The 
late  comer,  however,  was  only  a  tavern  waiter,  bearing  a 
supper-tray  ;  and  we  were  free  to  speechif}^,  shout,  quarrel, 
and  be  as  young  as  we  liked,  with  nobody  to  find  fault,  ex- 
cept, perchance,  the  bencher  below,  who,  I  dare  say,  was 
kept  awake  with  our  noise. 

When  that  supper  arrived,  poor  Talbot  Twysden,  who 
had  come  so  far  to  enjoy  it,  was  not  in  a  state  to  partake  of 
it.  Lord  Egham's  cigar  had  proved  too  much  for  him  ;  and 
the  worthy  gentleman  had  been  lying  on  a  sofa,  in  a  neigh- 
boring room,  for  some  time  past,  in  a  state  of  hopeless 
collapse.  He  had  told  us,  whilst  yet  capable  of  speech, 
what  a  love  and  regard  he  had  for  Philip  ;  but  between  him 
and  Philip's  father  there  was  but  little  love.  They  had  had 
that  worst  and  most  irremediable  of  quarrels,  a  difference 
about  twopence-halfpenny  in  the  division  of  the  property 
of  their  late  father-in-law.  Firmin  still  thought  Twysden 
a  shabby  curmudgeon ;  and  Twysden  considered  Pirmin  an 
unprincipled  man.  When  INIrs.  Pirmin  was  alive,  the  two 
poor  sisters  had  had  to  regulate  their  affections  by  the 
marital  orders,  and  to  be  warm,  cool,  moderate,  freezing,  ac- 
cording to  their  husbands'  state  for  the  time  being.  I  won- 
der are  there  many  real  reconciliations  ?  Dear  Tomkins 
and  I  are  reconciled,  I  know.     We  have  met  and  dined  at 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        201 

Jones's.  And  ah !  how  fond  we  are  of  each  other !  Oh, 
very  !  So  with  Firmin  and  Twysden.  They  met,  and  shook 
hands  with  perfect  animosity.  So  did  Twysden  junior  and 
Firmin  junior.  Young  Twysden  was  the  elder,  and  thrashed 
and  bullied  Phil  as  a  boy,  until  the  latter  arose  and  pitched 
his  cousin  downstairs.  ^lentally,  they  were  always  kicking 
each  other  downstairs.  Well,  poor  Talbot  could  not  par- 
take of  the  supper  when  it  came,  and  lay  in  a  piteous 
state  on  the  neighboring  sofa  of  the  absent  Mv.  Van  John. 

Who  would  go  home  with  him,  where  his  wife  must  be 
anxious  about  him  ?  I  agreed  to  convoy  him,  and  the  par- 
son said  he  was  going  our  way,  and  would  accompany  us. 
We  supported  this  senior  through  the  Temple,  and  put  him 
on  the  front  seat  of  a  cab.  The  cigar  had  disgracefully 
overcome  him  ;  and  any  lecturer  on  the  evils  of  smoking 
might  have  pointed  his  moral  on  the  helpless  person  of  this 
wretched  gentleman. 

The  evening's  feasting  had  only  imparted  animation  to 
Mr.  Hunt,  and  occasioned  an  agreeable  abandon  in  his  talk. 
I  had  seen  the  man  before  in  Dr.  Firmin's  house,  and  own 
that  his  society  was  almost  as  odious  to  me  as  to  the  doc- 
tor's son  Philip.  On  all  subjects  and  persons,  Phil  was 
accustomed  to  speak  his  mind  out  a  great  deal  too  openly  ; 
and  Mr.  Hunt  had  been  an  object  of  special  dislike  to  him 
ever  since  he  had  known  Hunt,  I  tried  to  make  the  best 
of  the  matter.  Few  men  of  kindly  feeling  and  good  station 
are  without  a  dependent  or  two.  Men  start  together  in 
the  race  of  life  ;  and  Jack  wins,  and  Tom  falls  by  his  side. 
The  successful  man  succors  and  reaches  a  friendly  hand  to 
the  unfortunate  competitor.  Eemembrance  of  early  times 
gives  the  latter  a  sort  of  right  to  call  on  his  luckier  com- 
rade ;  and  a  man  finds  himself  pitying,  then  enduring, 
then  embracing  a  companion  for  whom,  in  old  days,  per- 
haps, he  never  liad  had  any  regard  or  esteem.  A  prosperous 
man  ought  to  have  followers  :  if  he  has  none,  he  has  a  hard 
heart. 

This  philosophizing  was  all  very  well.  It  was  good  for  a 
man  not  to  desert  the  friends  of  his  boyhood.  But  to  live 
with  such  a-  cad  as  that  —  with  that  creature,  low,  servile, 
swaggering,  besotted  — "  How  could  his  father,  who  had 
fine  tastes,  and  loved  grand  company,  put  up  with  such  a 
fellow  ?  "  asked  Phil.  "I  don't  know  when  the  man  is  the 
more  odious  ;  when  he  is  familiar,  or  when  he  is  respectful ; 
when  he  is  paying  compliments  to  my  father's  guests  in 


202  THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

Parr  Street,  or  telling  liicleous  old  stale  stories,  as  lie  did 
at  my  call-supper." 

The  wine  of  which  Mr.  Hunt  freely  partook  on  that  occa- 
sion made  him,  as  I  have  said,  communicative.  "Not  a  bad 
fellow,  our  host,"  he  remarked,  on  his  part,  when  we  came 
away  together.  "Bumptious,  good-looking,  speaks  his 
mind,  hates  me,  and  I  don't  care.  He  must  be  well  to 
do  in  the  world,  Master  Philip." 

I  said  I  hoped  and  thought  so. 

"Brummell  Firmin  must  make  four  or  five  thousand  a 
year.  He  was  a  wild  fellow  in  my  time,  I  can  tell  you  — 
in  the  days  of  the  wild  Prince  and  Poins  —  stuck  at 
nothing,  spent  his  own  money,  ruined  himself,  fell  on  his 
legs  somehow,  and  married  a  fortune.  Some  of  us  have 
not  been  so  lucky.  I  had  nobody  to  pay  my  debts.  I 
missed  my  fellowship  by  idling  and  dissipating  with  those 
confounded  hats  and  silver-laced  gowns.  I  liked  good  com- 
pany in  those  days  —  always  did  when  I  could  get  it.  If 
you  Avere  to  write  my  adventures,  now,  you  would  have  to 
tell  some  queer  stories.  I've  been  everywhere ;  I've  seen 
high  and  low  —  'specially  low.  I've  tried  school-mastering, 
bear-leading,  newspapering,  America,  West  Indies.  I've 
been  in  every  city  in  Europe.  I  haven't  been  as  lucky  as 
Brummell  Firmin.  He  rolls  in  his  coach,  he  does,  and  I 
walk  in  my  highlows.  Guineas  drop  into  his  palm  every 
day,  and  are  uncommonly  scarce  in  mine,  I  can  tell  you; 
and  poor  old  Tufton  Hunt  is  not  much  better  off  at  fifty 
odd  than  he  was  when  he  was  an  undergraduate  at  eigh- 
teen. How  do  you  do,  old  gentleman  ?  Air  do  you  good  ? 
Here  Ave  are  at  Beaunash  Street ;  hope  you've  got  the  key, 
and  missis  won't  see  you."  A  large  butler,  too  well-bred 
to  express  astonishment  at  any  event  which  occurred  out 
of  doors,  opened  Mr.  Twysden's,  and  let  in  that  lamentable 
gentleman.  He  was  very  pale  and  solemn.  He  gasped 
out  a  few  words,  intimating  his  intention  to  fix  a  day  to 
ask  us  to  come  and  dine  soon,  and  taste  that  wine  that 
Winton  liked  so.  He  waved  an  unsteady  hand  to  us.  If 
Mrs.  Twysden  Avas  on  the  stairs  to  see  the  condition  of  her 
lord,  I  hope  she  took  possession  of  the  candle.  Hunt 
grumbled  as  aa^c  came  out:  "He  might  haA^e  offered  us 
some  refreshment  after  bringing  him  all  that  Avay  home. 
It's  only  half-past  one.  There's  no  good  in  going  to  bed  so 
soon  as  that.  Let  us  go  and  have  a  drink  somewhere.  I 
I  knoAv  a  very  good  crib  close  by.     No,  you  Avon't  ?     I  say  " 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        203 

(here  he  burst  into  a  laugh  which  startled  the  sleeping 
street),  ''I  know  what  you've  been  thinking  all  the  time  in 
the  cab.  You  are  a  swell, — you  are,  too  !  You  have  been 
thinking,  '  This  dreary  old  parson  will  try  and  borrow 
money  from  me.'  But  I  Avon't,  my  boy.  I've  got  a 
banker.  Look  here !  Fee,  faw,  fum.  You  understand. 
I  can  get  the  sovereigns  out  of  my  medical  swell  in  Old 
Parr  Street.  I  prescribe  bleeding  for  him  —  I  drew  him 
to-night.  He  is  a  very  kind  fellow,  Brummell  Firmin  is. 
He  can't  deny  such  a  dear  old  friend  anything.  Bless 
him ! "  And  as  he  turned  away  to  some  midnight  haunt 
of  his  own,  he  tossed  up  his  hand  in  the  air.  I  heard  him 
laughing  through  the  silent  street,  and  Policeman  X,  tramp- 
ing on  his  beat,  turned  round  and  suspiciously  eyed 
him. 

Then  I  thought  of  Dr.  Firmin's  dark  melancholy  face 
and  eyes.  Was  a  benevolent  remembrance  of  old  times  the 
bond  of  union  between  these  men  ?  All  my  house  had 
long  been  asleep,  when  I  opened  and  gently  closed  my 
house-door.  By  the  twinkling  night  lamp  I  could  dimly  see 
child  and  mother  softly  breathing.  Oh,  blessed  they  on 
whose  pillow  no  remorse  sits !  Hai)py  you  who  have 
escaped  temptation  ! 

I  may  have  been  encouraged  in  my  suspicions  of  the 
dingy  clergyman  by  Philip's  own  surmises  regarding  him, 
which  were  expressed  with  the  speaker's  usual  candor. 
"The  fellow  calls  for  what  he  likes  at  the  'Firmin 
Arms,' "  said  poor  Phil ;  "  and  when  my  father's  bigwigs 
assemble,  I  hope  the  reverend  gentleman  dines  with  them. 
I  should  like  to  see  him  hobnobbing  with  old  Bumpsher, 
or  slapping  the  bishop  on  the  back.  He  lives  in  Sligo 
Street,  round  the  corner,  so  as  to  be  close  to  our  house  and 
yet  preserve  his  own  elegant  independence.  Otherwise,  I 
wonder  he  has  not  installed  himself  in  Old  Parr  Street, 
where  my  poor  mother's  bedroom  is  vacant.  The  doctor 
does  not  care  to  use  that  room.  I  remember  now  how 
silent  they  were  when  together,  and  how  terrified  she 
always  seemed  before  him.  What  has  he  done  ?  I  know 
of  one  affair  in  his  early  life.  Does  this  Hunt  know  of 
any  more  ?  They  have  been  accomplices  in  some  conspir- 
acy, sir;  I  dare  say  with  that  young  Cinqbars,  of  whom 
Hunt  is  forever  bragging :  the  worthy  son  of  the  worthy 
Eingwood.     I  say,  does  wickedness  run  in  the  blood  ?     My 


204  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

grandfathers,  I  have  heard,  were  honest  men.  Perhaps 
they  were  only  not  found  out ;  and  the  family  taint  will 
show  in  me  some  day.  There  are  times  when  I  feel  the 
devil  so  strong  within  me,  that  I  think  some  day  he  must 
have  the  mastery.  I'm  not  quite  bad  yet :  but  I  tremble 
lest  I  should  go.  Suppose  I  were  to  drown,  and  go  down  ? 
It's  not  a  jolly  thing,  Pendennis,  to  have  such  a  father  as 
mine.  Don't  humbug  vie  with  your  charitable  palliations 
and  soothing  surmises.  You  put  me  in  mind  of  the  world 
then,  by  Jove,  you  do !  I  laugh,  and  I  drink,  and  I  make 
merry,  and  sing,  and  smoke  endless  tobacco ;  and  I  tell 
you,  I  always  feel  as  if  a  little  sword  was  dangling  over 
my  skull  which  will  fall  some  day  and  split  it.  Old  Parr 
Street  is  mined,  sir,  —  mined !  And  some  morning  we 
shall  be  blown  into  blazes  —  into  blazes,  sir ;  mark  my 
words !  That's  why  I'm  so  careless  and  so  idle,  for  which 
3'ou  fellows  are  always  bothering  and  scolding  me.  There's 
no  use  in  settling  down  until  the  explosion  is  over,  don't 
you  see  ?  Iiicedo  per  igiies  siq)posltos,  and,  by  George  !  sir, 
I  feel  my  boot-soles  already  scorching.  Poor  thing  !  poor 
mother"  (he  apostrophized  his  mother's  picture  which 
hung  in  the  room  where  we  were  talking),  "  were  you  aware 
of  the  secret,  and  was  it  the  knowledge  of  that  w'lich  made 
your  poor  eyes  always  look  so  frightened  ?  She  was 
always  fond  of  you.  Pen.  Do  you  remember  how  pretty 
and  graceful  she  used  to  look  as  she  lay  on  her  sofa  up- 
stairs, or  smiled  out  of  the  carriage  as  she  kissed  her  hand 
to  us  boys  ?  I  say,  what  if  a  woman  marries  and  is  coaxed 
and  wheedled  by  a  soft  tongue,  and  runs  off,  and  after- 
wards finds  her  husband  has  a  cloven  foot  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Philip  ! " 

"  What  is  to  be  the  lot  of  the  son  of  such  a  man  ?  Is  my 
hoof  cloven,  too  ?  "  It  was  on  the  stove,  as  he  talked,  ex- 
tended in  American  fashion.  "  Suppose  there's  no  escape 
for  me,  and  I  inherit  my  doom,  as  another  man  does  gout 
or  consumption  ?  Knowing  this  fate,  what  is  the  use, 
then,  of  doing  anything  in  particular  ?  I  tell  you,  sir,  the 
whole  edifice  of  our  present  life  will  crumble  in  and 
smash."  (Here  he  flings  his  pipe  to  the  ground  with  an 
awful  shatter.)  "And  until  the  catastrophe  comes,  what 
on  earth  is  the  use  of  setting  to  work,  as  you  call  it  ?  You 
might  as  well  have  told  a  fellow,  at  Pompeii,  to  select  a 
profession  the  day  before  the  eruption." 

"  If  you  know  that  Vesuvius  is  going  to  burst  over  Pom- 


Oy  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        205 

peii,"  I  said,  somewhat  alarmed,  "  wli}-  not  go  to  Naples, 
or  farther  if  you  will  ?  " 

''Were  there  not  men  in  the  sentry-boxes  at  the  city 
gates,"  asked  Philip,  ''who  might  have  run,  and  yet  re- 
mained to  be  burned  there  ?  Suppose,  after  all,  the  doom 
isn't  hanging  over  us,  —  and  the  fear  of  it  is  only  a  nervous 
terror  of  mine  ?  Suppose  it  comes,  and  I  survive  it  ?  The 
risk  of  the  game  gives  a  zest  to  it,  old  boy.  Besides,  there 
is  Honor :  and  Some  One  Else  is  in  the  case,  from  whom  a 
man  could  not  part  in  an  hour  of  danger."  And  here  he 
blushed  a  fine  red,  heaved  a  great  sigh,  and  emptied  a  bum- 
per of  claret. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


WILL  BE  PRONOUNCED  TO  BE  CYNICAL  BY  THE  BENEVOLENT. 


E:N'TLE  readers  will  not,  I 
trust,  think  the  worse  of  their 
most  obedient  humble  servant 
for  the  confession  that  I 
talked  to  my  wife  on  my 
return  home  regarding  Philip 
and  his  affairs.  When  I 
choose  to  be  frank,  I  hope  no 
man  can  be  more  open  than 
myself:  when  I  have  a  mind 
to  be  quiet,  no  fish  can  be 
more  mute.  I  have  kept 
secrets  so  ineffably  that  I 
have  utterly  forgotten  them, 
until  my  memory  was  re- 
freshed by  people  who  also 
knew  them.  But  what  was 
'.  the  use  of  hiding  this  one 
from  the  being  to  whom  I 
open  all,  or  almost  all  —  say 
all,  excepting  just  one  or  two  of  the  closets  of  this  heart  ? 
So  I  say  to  her,  ''  My  love ;  it  is  as  I  suspected.  Philip 
and  his  cousin  Agnes  are  carrying  on  together." 

"Is  Agnes  the  pale  one,  or  the  very  pale  one  ?  "  asks  the 
joy  of  my  existence. 

"No,  the  elder  is  Blanche.  They  are  both  older  than  Mr. 
Eirmin :  but  Blanche  is  the  elder  of  the  two." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  saying  anything  malicious,  or  contrary 
to  the  fact,  am  I,  sir  ?  " 

No.  Only  I  know  by  her  looks,  when  another  lady's  name 
is  mentioned,  whether  my  wife  likes  her  or  not.  And  I  am 
bound  to  say,  though  this  statement  may  meet  with  a  de- 
nial, that  her  countenance  does  not  vouchsafe  smiles  at  the 
mention  of  all  ladies'  names. 

206 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP.  207 

'•  You  don't  go  to  the  house  ?  You  and  ^[rs.  Tw3'sden 
have  called  on  each  other,  and  there  the  matter  has  stopped  ? 
Oh,  I  know  !  It  is  because  poor  Talbot  brags  so  about  his 
wine,  and  gives  such  abominable  stuff,  that  you  have  such 
an  un-Christian  feeling  for  him  ! " 

'•  That  is  the  reason,  I  dare  say,"  says  the  lady. 

"No.  Tt  is  no  such  thing.  Though  you  do  know  sherry 
from  port,  I  believe  upon  my  conscience  you  do  not  avoid 
the  Twysdens  because  they  give  bad  wine.  Many  others  sin 
in  that  way,  and  you  forgive  them.  You  like  your  fellow- 
creatures  better  than  wine  —  some  fellow-creatures  —  and 
you  dislike  some  fello \v -creatures  worse  than  medicine.  You 
swallow  them,  madam.  You  say  nothing,  but  your  looks 
are  dreadful.  You  make  wry  faces :  and  when  you  have 
t.iken  them,  you  want  a  piece  of  sweetmeat  to  take  the  taste 
out  of  your  mouth." 

The  lady,  thus  wittily  addressed,  shrugs  her  lovely  shoul- 
ders. My  wife  exasperates  me  in  many  things ;  in  getting 
up  at  insane  hours  to  go  to  early  church,  for  instance ;  in 
looking  at  me  in  a  particular  way  at  dinner,  when  I  am 
about  to  eat  one  of  those  entrees  which  Dr.  Goodenough 
declares  disagree  with  me ;  in  nothing  more  than  in  that  ob- 
stinate silence,  which  she  persists  in  maintaining  sometimes 
when  I  am  abusing  people,  whom  I  do  not  like,  whom  she 
does  not  like,  and  who  abuse  me.  This  reticence  makes  me 
wild.  What  confidence  can  there  be  between  a  man  and  his 
wife,  if  he  can't  say  to  her,  "  Confound  So-and-so !  I  hate 
him;"  or,  "What  a  prig  What-d'ye-call-'im  is!"  or,  "What 
a  bloated  aristocrat  Thingamy  has  become,  since  he  got  his 
place  !  "  or  what  you  will  ? 

"No,"  I  continue,  "I  know  why  you  hate  the  Twysdens, 
Mrs.  Pendennis.  You  hate  them  because  they  move  in  a 
world  which  you  can  only  occasionally  visit.  You  envy 
them  because  they  are  hand-in-glove  with  the  great ;  because 
they  possess  an  easy  grace,  and  a  frank  and  noble  elegance 
with  which  common  country-people  and  apothecaries'  sons 
are  not  endowed." 

"  ]\Iy  dear  Arthur,  I  do  think  you  are  ashamed  of  being 
an  apothecary's  son ;  you  talk  about  it  so  often,"  says  the 
lady.  ^Vhich  was  all  very  well :  but  you  see  she  was  not 
answering  my  remarks  about  the  Twysdens. 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear,"  I  say  then.  "  I.  ought  not  to 
be  censorious,  being  myself  no  more  virtuous  than  my  neigh- 
bor." 


208  THE  ADVENTURES    OF  PHILIP 

"  I  know  people  abuse  you,  Arthur ;  but  I  think  you  are 
a  very  good  sort  of  man,"  says  the  lady,  over  her  little  tea- 
tray. 

"  And  so  are  the  Twysdens  very  good  people  —  very  nice, 
artless,  unselfish,  simple,  generous,  well-  bred  people.  Mr. 
Twysden  is  all  heart:  Twysden's  conversational  powers  are 
remarkable  and  pleasing :  and  Philip  is  eminently  fortunate 
in  getting  one  of-  those  charming  girls  for  a  wife." 

"I've  no  patience  with  them,"  cries  my  wife,  losing  that 
quality  to  my  great  satisfaction:  for  then  I  knew  I  had 
found  the  crack  in  Madam  Pendennis's  armor  of  steel,  and 
had  smitten  her  in  a  vulnerable  little  place. 

"No  patience  with  them?  Quiet,  lady-like  young 
women !  "  I  cry. 

"  Ah,"  sighs  my  wife,  "  what  have  they  got  to  give  Philip 
in  return  for  —  " 

"  In  return  for  his  thirty  thousand  ?  They  will  have  ten 
thousand  pounds  apiece  when  their  mother  dies." 

"  Oh !  I  wouldn't  have  our  boy  marry  a  woman  like  one 
of  those,  not  if  she  had  a  million.  I  wouldn't,  my  child 
and  my  blessing ! "  (This  is  addressed  to  a  little  darling 
who  happens  to  be  eating  sweet  cakes,  in  a  high  chair,  off 
the  little  table  by  his  mother's  side,  and  who,  though  he 
certainly  used  to  cry  a  good  deal  at  that  period,  shall  be  a 
mute  personage  in  this  history). 

"You  are  alluding  to  Blanche's  little  affair  with — " 

"  No,  I  am  not,  sir  !  " 

"How  do  you  know  which  one  I  meant,  then?  —  Or  that 
notorious  disappointment  of  Agnes,  when  Lord  Farintosh 
became  a  widower  ?  If  he  wouldn't,  she  couldn't,  you  know, 
my  dear.  And  I  am  sure  she  tried  her  best:  at  least,  every- 
body said  so." 

"  Ah !  I  have  no  patience  with  the  way  in  which  you 
people  of  the  world  treat  the  most  sacred  of  subjects  —  the 
most  sacred,  sir.  Do  you  hear  me  ?  Is  a  woman's  love  to 
be  pledged  and  withdrawn  every  day  ?  Is  her  faith  and 
purity  only  to  be  a  matter  of  barter,  and  rank,  and  social 
consideration  ?  I  am  sorry,  because  I  don't  wish  to  see 
Philip,  who  is  good,  and  honest,  and  generous,  and  true  as 
3^et — however  great  his  faults  may  be — because  I  don't  wish 
to  see  him  given  up  to  —  Oh  !   it's  shocking,  shocking  ! " 

Given  up  to  what  ?  to  anything  dreadful  in  this  world, 
or  the  next  ?  Don't  imagine  that  Philip's  relations  thought 
they  were  doing  Phil  any  harm  by  condescending  to  marry 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        209 

him,  or  themselves  any  injury.  A  doctor's  son,  indeed  ! 
AVhy,  the  Twysdens  were  far  better  placed  in  the  world 
than  their  kinsmen  of  Old  Farr  Street ;  and  went  to  better 
houses.  The  year's  levee  and  drawing-room  would  have  been 
incomplete  without  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Twysden.  There  might 
be  families  with  higher  titles,  more  wealth,  higher  posi- 
tions ;  but  the  world  did  not  contain  more  respectable  folks 
than  the  Twysdens :  of  this  every  one  of  the  family  was  con- 
vinced, from  Talbot  himself  down  to  his  heir.  If  somebod}^ 
or  some  Body  of  savans  would  write  the  history  of  the  harm 
that  has  been  done  in  the  world  by  people  who  believe 
themselves  to  be  virtuous,  what  a  queer,  edifying  book  it 
would  be,  and  how  poor  oppressed  rogues  might  look  up  ! 
Who  burn  the  Protestants  ?  —  the  virtuous  Catholics,  to  be 
sure.  AVho  roast  the  Catholics  ? —  the  virtuous  Eeformers. 
Who  thinks  I  am  a  dangerous  character,  and  avoids  me  at 
the  club?  —  the  virtuous  Squaretoes.  Who  scorns?  who 
persecutes?  who  doesn't  forgive?  —  the  virtuous  Mrs. 
Grundy.  She  remembers  her  neighbor's  peccadilloes  to  the 
third  and  fourth  generation  ;  and  if  she  linds  a  certain  man 
fallen  in  her  path,  gathers  up  her  affrighted  garments  with 
a  shriek,  for  fear  the  muddy,  bleeding  wretch  should  contam- 
inate her,  and  passes  on. 

I  do  not  seek  to  create  even  surprises  in  this  modest  his- 
tory, or  condescend  to  keep  candid  readers  in  suspense  about 
many  matters  which  might  possibly  interest  them.  For  in- 
stance, the  matter  of  love  has  interested  novel-readers  for 
hundreds  of  years  past,  and  doubtless  will  continue  so  to 
interest  them.  Almost  all  young  people  read  love-books 
and  histories  with  eagerness,  oldsters  read  books  of  medi- 
cine, and  whatever  it  is  —  heart-complaint,  gout,  liver,  palsy 
—  cry,  "Exactly  so,  precisely  my  case!"  Phil's  first  love- 
affair,  to  which  we  are  now  coming,  was  a  false  start.  I 
own  it  at  once.  And  in  this  commencement  of  his  career  I 
believe  he  w^as  not  more  or  less  fortunate  thali  many  and 
many  a  man  and  woman  in  this  w^orld.  Suppose  the  course 
of  true  love  always  did  run  smooth,  and  everybody  married 
his  or  her  first  love.     Ah  !  what  would  marriage  be  ? 

A  generous  young  fellow  comes  to  market  with  a  heart 
ready  to  leap  out  of  his  waistcoat,  forever  thumping  and 
throbbing,  and  so  wild  that  he  can't  have  any  rest  till  he  has 
disposed  of  it.  What  wonder  if  he  falls  upon  a  wily  mer- 
chant in  Vanity  Fair,  and  barters  his  all  for  a  stale  bauble 
not  worth  sixpence  ?     Phil  chose  to  fall  in  love  with  his 

VOL.    I.  — 14 


210  THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

cousin ;  and  I  warn  you  that  nothing  will  come  of  that  pas- 
sion, except  the  influence  which  it  had  upon  the  young  man's 
character.  Though  my  Avife  did  not  love  the  Twysdens, 
she  loves  sentiment,  she  loves  love-affairs  —  all  women  do. 
Poor  Phil  used  to  bore  me  after  dinner  with  endless  rodo- 
montades about  his  passion  and  his  charmer ;  but  my  wife 
was  never  tired  of  listening.  "  You  are  a  selfish,  heartless, 
hlase  man  of  the  world,  you  are,"  he  would  say.  "  Your 
own  immense  and  undeserved  good  fortune  in  the  matrimo- 
nial lottery  has  rendered  you  hard,  cold,  crass,  indifferent. 
You  have  been  asleep,  sir,  twice  to-night  whilst  I  was  talk- 
ing. I  will  go  up  and  tell  madam  everything.  She  has  a 
heart."  And  presently,  engaged  with  my  book  or  my  after- 
dinner  doze,  I  would  hear  Phil  striding  and  creaking  over- 
head, and  plunging  energetic  pokers  in  the  drawing-room 
fire. 

Thirty  thousand  pounds  to  begin  Avith ;  a  third  part  of 
that  sum  coming  to  the  lady  from  her  mother ;  all  the  doc- 
tor's savings  and  property ;  —  here  certainly  was  enough  in 
possession  and  expectation  to  satisfy  many  young  couples : 
and  as  Phil  is  twenty-two,  and  Agnes  (must  I  own  it  ?) 
twenty-five,  and  as  she  has  consented  to  listen  to  the  warm 
outpourings  of  the  eloquent  and  passionate  youth,  and  ex- 
change for  his  fresh,  new-minted,  golden  sovereign  heart, 
that  used  little  threepenny-piece,  her  own  —  why  should 
they  not  marry  at  once,  and  so  let  us  have  an  end  of  them 
and  this  history  ?  They  have  plenty  of  money  to  pay  the 
parson  and  the  post-chaise ;  they  may  drive  off  to  the  coun- 
try, and  live  on  their  means,  and  lead  an  existence  so  hum- 
drum and  tolerably  happy  that  Phil  may  grow  quite  too  fat, 
lazy,  and  unfit  for  his  present  post  of  hero  of  a  novel.  But 
stay  —  there  are  obstacles;  coy,  reluctant,  amorous  delays. 
After  all,  Philip  is  a  dear,  brave,  handsome,  wild,  reckless, 
blundering  boy,  treading  upon  everybody's  dress-skirts, 
smashing  the  little  Dresden  ornaments  and  the  pretty  little 
decorous  gimcracks  of  society,  life,  conversation ;  —  but 
there  is  time  yet.  Are  you  so  very  sure  about  that  money  of 
his  mother's  ?  and  how  is  it  that  his  father,  the  doctor,  has 
not  settled  accounts  with  him  yet?  C^est  louche.  A  family 
of  high  position  and  principle  must  look  to  have  the  money 
matters  in  perfect  order,  before  they  consign  a  darling  ac- 
customed to  every  luxury  to  the  guardianship  of  a  confess- 
edly wild  and  eccentric,  though  generous  and  amiable,  young 
man.     Besides,  ah  !  besides  —  besides  I 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        211 

.8 


"  .  .  .  .  It's  horrible,  Arthur  !  It's  cruel,  Arthur  !  It's  a 
shame  to  judge  a  woman,  or  Christian  people  so  !  Oh  !  my 
loves  !  my  blessings !  would  I  sell  t/ou  ?  "  says  this  young 
mother,  clutching  a  little  belaced,  befurbelowed  being  to 
her  heart,  infantine,  squalling,  with  blue  shoulder-ribbons, 


212  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

a  mottled  little  arm  that  has  just  been  vaccinated,  and 
the  sweetest  red  shoes.  "  Would  T  sell  you  ? "  says 
mamma.  Little  Arty,  I  say,  squalls ;  and  little  Nelly 
looks  up  from  her  bricks  with  a  wondering,  whimpering 
expression. 

Well,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  what  the  "  besides  "  is  ;  but 
the  fact  is,  that  young  Woolcomb  of  the  Life  Guards  Grreen, 
who  has  inherited  immense  West  India  property,  and,  we 
will  say,  just  a  teaspoonful  of  that  dark  blood  which  makes 
a  man  naturally  partial  to  blond  beauties,  has  cast  his  opal 
eyes  very  warmly  upon  the  golden-haired  Agnes  of  late ; 
has  danced  with  her  not  a  little  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Twysden's 
barouche  appears  by  the  Serpentine,  you  may  not  unfre- 
quently  see  a  pair  of  the  neatest  little  yellow  kid  gloves 
just  playing  with  the  reins,  a  pair  of  the  prettiest  little 
boots  just  touching  the  stirrup,  a  magnificent  horse  dancing, 
and  tittupping,  and  tossing,  and  performing  the  most  grace- 
ful caracoles  and  gambadoes,  and  on  the  magnificent  horse 
a  neat  little  man  with  a  blazing  red  flower  in  his  bosom, 
and  glancing  opal  eyes,  and  a  dark  complexion,  and  hair  so 
very  black  and  curly,  that  I  really  almost  think  in  some  of 
the  Southern  States  of  America  he  would  be  likely  to  meet 
with  rudeness  in  a  railway-car. 

But  in  England  we  know  better.  In  England  Grenville 
Woolcomb  is  a  man  and  a  brother.  Half  of  Arrowroot  Is- 
land, they  say,  belongs  to  him ;  besides  Mangrove  Hall,  in 
Hertfordshire ;  ever  so  much  property  in  other  counties, 
and  that  fine  house  in  Berkeley  Square.  He  is  called  the 
Black  Prince  behind  the  scenes  of  many  theatres  ,  ladies 
nod  at  him  from  those  broughams  which,  you  understand, 
need  not  be  particularized.  The  idea  of  his  immense  riches 
is  confirmed  by  the  known  fact  that  he  is  a  stingy  Black 
Prince,  and  most  averse  to  parting  with  his  money  except 
for  his  own  adornment  or  amusement.  When  he  receives 
at  his  country-house,  his  entertainments  are,  however,  splen- 
did. He  has  been  flattered,  followed,  caressed  all  his  life, 
and  allowed  by  a  fond  mother  to  have  his  own  way ;  and 
as  this  has  never  led  him  to  learning,  it  must  be  owned 
that  his  literary  acquirements  are  small,  and  his  writing  de- 
fective. But  in  the  management  of  his  pecuniary  affairs 
he  is  very  keen  and  clever.  His  horses  cost  him  less  than 
any  young  man's  in  England  who  is  so  well  mounted.  Xo 
dealer  has  ever  been  known  to  get  the  better  of  him  ;  and, 
though  he  is  certainl}^  close  about  money,  when  his  wishes 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WOULD.        213 

have  very  keenly  prompted  him,  no  sum  has  been  known 
to  stand  in  his  way. 

Witness    the    purchase  of   the   .     But   never   mind 

scandaL  Let  by-gones  be  bj'-gones.  A  young  doctor's  son, 
with  a  thousand  a  year  for  a  fortune,  may  be  considered  a 
catch  in  some  circles,  but  not,  vous  concevez,  in  the  upper 
regions  of  society.  And  dear  woman  —  dear,  angelic,  highly 
accomplished,  respectable  woman  —  does  she  not  know  how 
to  pardon  many  failings  in  our  sex  ?  Age  ?  psha !  She 
will  crown  my  Ijare  old  ]3oll  with  the  roses  of  her  youth. 
Complexion  ?  What  contrast  is  sweeter  and  more  touching 
than  Desdemona's  golden  ringlets  on  swart  Othello's  shoul- 
der ?  A  past  life  of  selfishness  and  bad  company  ?  Come 
out  from  among  the  swine,  my  prodigal,  and  I  will  purify 
thee  ! 

This  is  what  is  called  cynicism,  you  know.  Then  I  sup- 
pose m}^  wife  is  a  cynic,  who  clutches  her  children  to  her 
pure  heart,  and  prays  gracious  heaven  to  guard  them  from 
selfishness,  from  worldliness,  from  heartlessness,  from 
wicked  greed. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

CONTAINS    ONE     RIDDLE    WHICH     IS     SOLVED,    AND     PERHAPS 
SOME     MORE. 


INE  is  a  mod.est 
muse,  and  as  the 
period  of  the  story 
arrives  when  a  de- 
scription of  love- 
making  is  justly 
due,  my  JMnemos- 
yne  turns  away 
from  the  young 
couple,  drops  a  lit- 
tle curtain  over  the 
embrasure  w  here 
they  are  whisper- 
ing, heaves  a  sigh 
from  her  elderly 
bosom,  and  lays  a 
linger  on  her  lip. 
Ah,  Mnemosyne, 
I  dear !  we  will  not 
be  spies  on  the 
^  young  people.  We 
s:^^  Tv^ill  not  scold  them. 
We  won't  talk  about 
their  doings  much. 

______  When     we      were 

young,  we  too,  per- 
haps, w-ere  taken  in  under  Love's  tent ;  Ave  have  eaten  of 
his  salt :  and  partaken  of  his  bitter,  his  delicious  bread. 
Now  we  are  padding  the  hoof  lonely  in  the  wilderness,  we 
will  not  abuse  our  host,  will  we  ?  We  will  couch  under 
the  stars,  and  think  fondly  of  old  times,  and  to-morrow 
resume  the  staff  and  the  journey. 

And  yet,  if   a  novelist   may  chronicle   any  passion,   its 

214 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP.  215 

flames,  its  raptures,  its  whispers,  its  assignations,  its  son- 
nets, its  quarrels,  sulks,  reconciliations,  and  so  on,  the 
history  of  such  a  lov^e  as  this  first  of  Phil's  may  be  ex- 
cusable in  print,  because  I  don't  believe  it  was  a  real  love 
at  all,  only  a  little  brief  delusion  of  the  senses,  from  which 
I  give  you  warning  that  our  hero  will  recover  before  many 
chapters  are  over.  What !  my  brave  boy,  shall  we  give 
your  heart  away  for  good  and  all,  for  better  or  for  worse, 
till  death  do  you  part  ?  What !  my  Cory  don  and  sighing 
swain,  shall  we  irrevocably  bestow  you  upon  Phillis,  who, 
all  the  time  you  are  piping  and  paying  court  to  her,  has 
Meliboeus  in  the  cupboard,  and  ready  to  be  produced  should 
he  prove  to  be  a  more  eligible  shepherd  than  t'other  ?  I  am 
not  such  a  savage  towards  my  readers  or  hero,  as  to  make 
them  undergo  the  miser}^  of  such  a  marriage. 

Philip  was  very  little  of  a  club  or  society  man.  He  sel- 
dom or  ever  entered  the  '•  Megatherium,"  or  when  there 
stared  and  scowled  round  him  savagel}^,  and  laughed 
strangely  at  the  ways  of  the  inhabitants.  He  made  but  a 
clumsy  figure  in  the  world ;  though  in  person,  handsome, 
active,  and  jjroper  enough  ;  but  he  would  forever  put  his 
great  foot  through  the  World's  flounced  skirts,  and  she 
would  stare,  and  cry  out,  and  hate  him.  He  was  the 
last  man  who  was  aware  of  the  Woolcomb  flirtation, 
when  hundreds  of  i3eople,  I  dare  say,  were  simpering 
over  it. 

"■  Who  is  that  little  man  who  comes  to  your  house,  and 
whom  I  sometimes  see  in  the  Park,  aunt  —  that  little  man 
Avith  the  very  white  gloves  and  the  very  tawny  com- 
plexion ?  "  asks  Philip. 

''  That  is  ^Ir.  Woolcomb,  of  the  Life  Guards  Green," 
aunt  remembers. 

"  An  officer  is  he  ?  "  saj'S  Philip,  turning  round  to  the 
girls.  '•!  should  have  thought  he  would  have  done  better 
for  the  turban  and  cymbais."  And  he  laughs  and  thinks 
he  has  said  a  very  clever  thing.  Oh,  those  good  things 
about  people  and  against  peoj^le !  Xever,  my  dear  3'oung 
friend,  say  them  to  anybody  —  not  to  a  stranger,  for  he  will 
go  away  and  tell ;  not  to  the  mistress  of  your  affections, 
for  you  may  quarrel  with  her,  and  then  she  will  tell ;  not 
to  your  son,  for  the  artless  child  will  return  to  his  school- 
fellows and  say  :  "  Papa  says  Mr.  P>lenkinsop  is  a  muff." 
My  child,  or  what  not,  praise  everybody  :  smile  on  every- 
body :  and  everybody  \\\\\  smile  on  you  in  return,  a  sham 


216  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

smile,  and  hold  you  out  a  sham  hand;  and,  in  a  word, 
esteem  you  as  you  deserve.  No.  I  think  you  and  I  will 
take  the  ups  and  the  downs,  the  roughs  and  the  smooths 
of  this  daily  existence  and  conversation.  We  will  praise 
those  whom  we  like,  though  nobody  repeat  our  kind  say- 
ings ;  and  say  our  say  about  those  whom  we  dislike,  though 
we  are  pretty  sure  our  words  will  be  carried  by  tale-bearers, 
and  increased  and  multiplied,  and  remembered  long  after 
we  have  forgotten  them.  We  drop  a  little  stone  — a  little 
stone  that  is  swallowed  up  and  disappears,  but  the  whole 
pond  is  set  in  commotion,  aucl  ripples  in  continually  widen- 
ing circles  long  after  the  original  little  stone  has  popped 
down  and  is  out  of  sight.  Don't  your  speeches  of  ten  years 
ago  —  maimed,  distorted,  bloated  it  may  be  out  of  all  recog- 
nition —  come  strangely  back  to  their  author  ? 

Phil,  five  minutes  after  he  had  made  the  joke,  so  entirely 
forgot  his  saying  about  the  Black  Prince  and  the  cymbals 
that  when  Captain  Woolcomb  scowled  at  him  with  his 
fiercest  eyes,  young  Firmin  thought  that  this  was  the 
natural  expression  of  the  captain's  swarthy  countenance, 
and  gave  himself  no  further  trouble  regarding  it.  "  By 
George  !  sir,"  said  Phil  afterwards,  speaking  of  this  officer, 
"  I  remarked  that  he  grinned,  and  chattered,  and  showed 
his  teeth;  and  remembering  it  was  the  nature  of  such 
baboons  to  chatter  and  grin,  had  no  idea  that  this  chim- 
panzee was  more  angry  with  me  than  with  any  other  gentle- 
man. You  see.  Pen,  I  am  a  white-skinned  man  ;  I  am 
pronounced  even  red- whiskered  by  the  ill-natured.  It  is  not 
the  prettiest  color.  But  I  had  no  idea  that  I  was  to  have  a 
mulatto  for  a  rival.  I  am  not  so  rich,  certainly,  but  I  have 
enough.  I  can  read  and  spell  correctly,  and  write  with 
tolerable  fluency.  I  could  not,  you  know,  could  I,  reason- 
ably suppose  that  I  need  fear  competition,  and  that  the 
black  horse  would  beat  the  bay  one  ?  Shall  I  tell  you  what 
she  used  to  say  to  me  ?  There  is  no  kissing  and  telling, 
mind  you.  No,  by  George.  Virtue  and  prudence  were  for- 
ever on  her  lips  !  She  warbled  little  sermons  to  me  ;  hinted 
gently  that  I  should  see  to  safe  investments  of  my  })rop- 
erty,  and  that  no  man,  not  even  a  father,  should  be  the 
sole  and  uncontrolled  guardian  of  it.  She  asked  me,  sir, 
scores  and  scores  of  little  sweet,  timid,  innocent  questions 
about  the  doctor's  property,  and  how  much  did  I  think  it 
was,  and  how  had  he  laid  it  out  ?  What  virtuous  parents 
that  angel  had  !     How  they  brought  her  up,  and  educated 


ON  HIS    ]VAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        217 

her  dear  blue  eyes  to  the  main  chance  !  She  knows  the 
price  of  house-keeping,  and  the  value  of  railway  shares ; 
she  invests  capital  for  herself  in  this  world  and  the  next. 
She  majai't  do  right  always,  but  Avrong  ?  Oh  fie,  never !  I 
say,  Pen,  an  undeveloped  angel  with  wings  folded  under 
her  dress  ;  not,  perhaps,  your  mighty,  snoAv-white,  flashing 
pinions  that  spread  out  and  soar  up  to  the  highest  stars, 
but  a  pair  of  good  serviceable  drab  dove-colored  wings,  that 
Avill  support  her  gently  and  equably  just  over  our  heads, 
and  help  to  drop  her  softly  when  she  condescends  upon  us. 
When  I  think,  sir,  that  I  might  have  been  married  to  a  gen- 
teel angel  and  am  single  still  —  oh!  it's  despair,  it's  de- 
spair !  " 

But  Philip's  little  story  of  disappointed  hopes  and  boot- 
less passion  must  be  told  in  terms  less  acrimonious  and  un- 
fair than  the  gentleman  would  use,  naturally  of  a  sanguine, 
swaggering  talk,  prone  to  exaggerate  his  own  disappoint- 
ments, and  call  out,  roar  —  I  dare  say  swear  —  if  his  own 
corn  was  trodden  upon,  as  loudly  as  some  men  who  may 
have  a  leg  taken  off. 

This  I  can  vouch  for  Miss  Twysden,  Mrs*.  Twysden,  and 
all  the  rest  of  the  family:  —  that  if  they,  what  you  call, 
jilted  Philip,  they  did  so  Avithout  the  slightest  hesitation  or 
notion  that  they  were  doing  a  dirty  action.  Their  actions 
never  ivere  dirty  or  mean ;  they  Avere  necessar}^  I  tell  you, 
and  calmly  proper.  They  ate  cheese-parings  Avith  graceful 
silence ;  they  cribbed  from  board-Avages ;  they  turned 
hungry  servants  out  of  doors ;  the}^  remitted  no  chance  in 
their  oAvn  favor ;  they  slept  gracefully  under  scanty  cover- 
lids ;  they  lighted  niggard  fires ;  they  locked  the  caddy 
Avith  the  closest  lock,  and  served  the  teapot  Avith  the 
smallest  and  least  frequent  spoon.  But  you  don't  suppose 
they  thought  they  Avere  mean,  or  that  they  did  Avrong  ? 
Ah!  it  is  admirable  to  think  of  many,  many,  ever  so  many 
respectable  families  of  your  acquaintance  and  mine,  my 
dear  friend,  and  hoAv  they  meet  together  and  humbug  each 
other !  "My  dear,  I  haA^e  cribbed  half  an  inch  of  plush  out 
of  James's  small-clothes."  "  My  love,  I  have  saved  a  half- 
penny out  of  Mary's  beer.  Isn't  it  time  to  dress  for  the 
duchess's  ;  and  don't  you  think  John  might  wear  that  livery 
of  Thomas's,  Avho  only  had  it  a  year,  and  died  of  the  small- 
pox ?  It's  a  little  tight  for  him,  to  be  sure,  but,"  &c. 
What  is  this  ?  I  profess  to  be  an  impartial  chronicler  of 
poor    Phil's   fortunes,  misfortunes,  friendships,  and  what- 


218  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

nots,  and  am  getting  almost  as  angry  with  these  Twysdens 
as  Philip  ever  was  himself. 

Well,  I  am  not  mortally  angry  with  poor  Traviata  tramp- 
ing the  pavement,  with  the  gas-lamp  flaring  on  her  poor 
painted  smile,  else  my  indignant  virtue  and  squeamish 
modesty  would  never  walk  Piccadilly  or  get  the  air.  But 
Lais,  quite  moral,  and  very  neatly,  primly,  and  straitly 
laced ;  —  Phryne,  not  the  least  dishevelled,  but  with  a  fixa- 
ture for  her  hair,  and  the  best  stays,  fastened  by  mamma ;  — > 
your  High  Church  or  Evangelical  Aspasia,  the  model  of  all 
proprieties,  and  owner  of  all  virgin-purity  blooms,  ready  to 
sell  her  cheek  to  the  oldest  old  fogy  who  has  money  and  a 
title ;  —  these  are  the  Unfortunates,  my  dear  brother  and 
sister  sinners,  whom  I  should  like  to  see  repentant  and 
specially  trounced  first.  Why,  some  of  these  are  put  into 
reformatories  in  Grosvenor  Square.  They  wear  a  prison 
dress  of  diamonds  and  Chantilly  lace.  Their  parents  cry, 
and  thank  heaven  as  they  sell  them ;  and  all  sorts  of 
revered  bishops,  clergy,  relations,  dowagers,  sign  the  book, 
and  ratify  the  ceremony.  Come !  let  vis  call  a  midnight 
meeting  of  those  who  have  been  sold  in  marriage,  I  say, 
and  what  a  respectable,  what  a  genteel,  what  a  fashionable, 
what  a  brilliant,  what  an  imposing,  what  a  multitudinous 
assembly  we  will  have ;  and  where's  the  room  in  all  Baby- 
lon big  enough  to  hold  them  ? 

Look  into  that  grave,  solemn,  dingy,  somewhat  naked, 
but  elegant  drawing-room,  in  Beaunash  Street,  and  with  a 
little  fanciful  opera-glass  you  may  see  a  pretty  little  group 
or  two  engaged  at  different  periods  of  the  day.  It  is  after 
lunch,  and  before  E often  Kow  ride  time  (this  stoiy,  you 
know,  relates  to  a  period  ever  so  remote,  and  long  before 
folks  thought  of  riding  in  the  Park  in  the  forenoon). 
After  lunch,  and  before  Eotten  Eow  time,  saunters  into  the 
drawing-room  a  fair-haired  young  fellow  with  large  feet  and 
chest,  careless  of  gloves,  with  auburn  whiskers  blowing 
over  a  loose  collar,  and  —  must  I  confess  it?  —  a  most 
undeniable  odor  of  cigars  about  his  person.  He  breaks  out 
regarding  the  debate  of  the  previous  night,  or  the  i3amphlet 
of  yesterda}^,  or  the  poem  of  the  day  previous,  or  the 
scandal  of  the  week  before,  or  upon  the  street-sweeper  at 
the  corner,  or  the  Italian  and  monkey  before  the  Park  — 
upon  whatever,  in  a  word,  moves  his  mind  for  the  moment. 
If  Philip  has  had  a  bad  dinner  3- esterday  (and  happens  to 
remember  it),  he  growls,  grumbles,  nay,  I  dare  say,  uses 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        219 

the  most  blasphemous  hxngiiage  against  the  cook,  against  the 
waiters,  against  the  steward,  against  the  committee,  against 
the  whole  society  of  the  club  where  he  has  been  dining. 
If  Philip  has  met  an  organ-girl  with  pretty  eyes  and  a 
monkey  in  the  street,  he  has  grinned  and  wondered  over 
the  monkey ;  he  has  wagged  his  head,  and  sung  all  the 
organ's  tunes ;  he  has  discovered  that  the  little  girl  is  the 
most  ravishing  beauty  eyes  ever  looked  on,  and  that  her 
scoundrelly  Savo3"ard  father  is  most  likely  an  Alpine 
miscreant  who  has  bartered  away  his  child  to  a  peddler  of 
the  beggarly  cheesy  valleys,  who  has  sold  her  to  a  friend 
qui  fait  la  traife  des  hurdigurdies,  and  has  disposed  of  her 
in  England.  If  he  has  to  discourse  on  the  poem, 
pamphlet,  magazine  article  —  it  is  written  by  the  greatest 
genius,  or  the  greatest  numskull,  that  the  world  now 
exhibits.  He  write !  A  man  who  makes  fire  rhyme  with 
Marire !  This  vale  of  tears  and  world  which  we  inhabit 
does  not  contain  such  an  idiot.  Or  have  you  seen  Dobbins's 
poem  ?  Agnes,  mark  my  words  for  it,  there  is  a  genius  in 
Dobbins  which  some  day  will  show  what  I  have  always 
surmised,  what  I  have  always  imagined  possible,  what  I 
have  always  felt  to  be  more  than  probable,  what,  by  George  ! 
I  feel  to  l3e  perfectly  certain,  and  any  man  is  a  humbug 
who  contradicts  it,  and  a  malignant  miscreant,  and  the 
world  is  full  of  fellows  who  will  never  give  another  man 
credit;  and  I  swear  that  to  recognize  and  feel  merit  in 
poetry,  painting,  music,  rope-dancing,  anj'thing,  is  the 
greatest  delight  and  joy  of  my  existence.  I  say  —  what 
was  I  saying  ?  " 

"You  were  saying,  Philip,  that  you  love  to  recognize  the 
merits  of  all  men  whom  you  see,"  says  gentle  Agnes,  '-and 
I  believe  you  do." 

"  Yes ! "  cries  Phil,  tossing  about  the  fair  locks.  "  I 
think  I  do.  Thank  heaven,  I  do.  I  know  fellows  who  can 
do  many  things  better  than  I  do  —  everything  better  than  I 
do." 

"  Oh,  Philip  !  "  sighs  the  lady. 

"  But  I  don't  hate  'em  for  it." 

"  You  never  hated  any  one,  sir.  You  are  too  brave  !  Can 
you  fancy  Philip  hating  any  one,  mamma  ?  " 

Mamma  is  writing :  "  Mr.  and  j\Irs.  Talbot  Twysdex 
request  the  honor  of  Admiral  and  Mrs.  Davis  Locker's 
company  at  dinner  on  Thursday  the  so-and-so."  "Philip 
what  ?  "  says  mamma,  looking  up  from  her  card.     "  Philip 


220  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

hating  any  one  !  Philip  eating  any  one  !  Philip !  we  have 
a  little  dinner  on  the  24tli.  We  shall  ask  your  father  to 
dine.  We  must  not  have  too  many  of  the  family.  Come 
in  afterwards,  please." 

''  Yes,  aunt,"  says  downright  Phil,  "  I'll  come,  if  you  and 
the  girls  wish.  You  know  tea  is  not  in  my  line  ;  and  I  don't 
care  about  dinners,  except  in  my  own  way,  and  with  — " 

"  And  with  your  own  horrid  set,  sir  !  '^ 

'^  Well,"  says  Sultan  Philip,  flinging  himself  out  on  the 
sofa,  and  lording  on  the  ottoman,  "  I  like  mine  ease  and 
mine  inn." 

"  Ah,  Philip  !  you  grow  more  selfish  every  day.  I  mean 
men  do,"  sighed  Agnes. 

You  will  suppose  mamma  leaves  the  room  at  this  junc- 
ture. She  has  that  confidence  in  dear  Philip  and  the  dear 
girls,  that  she  sometimes  does  leave  the  room  when  Agnes  and 
Phil  are  together.  She  will  leave  Keuben,  the  eldest  born, 
with  her  daughters  :  but  my  poor  dear  little  younger  son  of 
a  Joseph,  if  you  suppose  she  will  leave  the  room  and  you 
alone  in  it  —  0  my  clear  Joseph,  you  may  just  jump  down 
the  well  at  once  !  Mamma,  I  say,  has  left  the  room  at  last, 
bowing  with  a  perfect  sweetness  and  calm  grace  and 
gravity ;  and  she  has  slipped  down  the  stairs,  scarce  more 
noisy  than  the  shadow  that  slants  over  the  faded  carpet 
(oh !  the  faded  shadow,  the  faded  sunshine  !)  —  mamma  is 
gone,  I  say,  to  the  lower  regions,  and  with  perfect  good 
breeding  is  torturing  the  butler  on  his  bottle-rack  —  is 
squeezing  the  housekeeper  in  her  jam-closet  —  is  watching 
the  three  cold  cutlets  shuddering  in  the  larder  behind  the 
wires  — is  blandly  glancing  at  the  kitchen-maid  until  the 
poor  wench  fancies  the  piece  of  bacon  is  discovered  which 
she  gave  to  the  crossing-sweeper  —  and  calmly  penetrating 
John  until  he  feels  sure  his  inmost  heart  is  revealed  to  her, 
as  it  throbs  within  his  worsted-laced  waistcoat,  and  she 
knows  about  that  pawning  of  master's  old  boots  (beastly 
old  highlows !),  and — and,  in  fact,  all  the  most  intimate 
circumstances  of  his  existence.  A  Avretched  maid,  who  has 
been  ironing  collars,  or  whatnot,  gives  her  mistress  a  shud- 
dering courtesy,  and  slinks  away' with  her  laces  :  and  mean- 
while our  girl  and  boy  are  prattling  in  the  drawing-room. 

About  what  ?  About  everything  on  which  Philip 
chooses  to  talk.  There  is  nobody  to  contradict  him  but 
himself,  and  then  his  pretty  hearer  a^ows  and  declares  he 
has  not  been  so  very  contradictory.     He  spouts  his  favorite 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        221 

poems.  "  Delightful !  Do,  Pliilip,  read  us  some  Walter 
Scott !  He  is,  as  you  say,  tlie  most  fresh,  the  most  manly, 
the  most  kindly  of  j^oetic  writers  —  not  of  the  first  class, 
certainly.  In  fact,  he  has  written  most  dreadful  bosh,  as 
you  call  it  so  droll}- ;  and  so  has  Wordsworth,  though  he 
is  one  of  the  greatest  of  men,  and  has  reached  sometimes 
to  the  very  greatest  height  and  sublimity  of  poetry  ;  but 
now  you  put  it,  I  must  confess  he  is  often  an  old  bore,  and 
I  certainly  should  have  gone  to  sleep  during  the  'Excur- 
sion,' only  you  read  it  so  nicely.  You  don't  think  the  new 
composers  as  good  as  the  old  ones,  and  love  mamma's  old- 
fashioned  playing  ?  Well,  Philip,  it  is  delightful,  so  lady- 
like, so  feminine ! "  Or,  perhaps,  Philip  has  just  come 
from  Hyde  Park,  and  says,  "  As  I  passed  by  Apsley  House, 
I  saw  the  Duke  come  out,  with  his  old  blue  frock  and 
white  trousers  and  clear  face.  I  have  seen  a  picture  of  him 
in  an  old  Euroxjean  Magazine,  which  I  think  I  like  better 
than  all  —  gives  me  the  idea  of  one  of  the  brighest  men  in 
the  world.  The  brave  eyes  gleam  at  you  out  of  the 
picture ;  and  there's  a  smile  on  the  resolute  lips,  which 
seems  to  insure  triumph.  Agnes,  Assaye  must  have  been 
glorious  ! " 

"Glorious,  Philip  !  "  says  Agnes,  who  had  never  heard  of 
Assaye  before  in  her  life.  Arbela,  perhaps  ;  Salamis,  ^Nlara- 
thon,  Agincourt,  Blenheim,  Busaco  —  where  dear  grandpapa 
was  killed  —  Waterloo,  Armageddon;  but  Assaye?  Que 
voulez-vous  ? 

"Think  of  that  ordinarily  prudent  man,  and  how  greatly 
he  knew  how  to  dare  when  occasion  came  !  I  should  like  to 
have  died  after  winning  such  a  game.  He  has  never  done 
anything  so  exciting  since." 

"  A  game  ?  I  thought  it  was  a  battle  just  now,"  mur- 
murs Agnes  in  her  mind;  but  there  may  be  some  misunder- 
standing. "  Ah,  Philip,"  she  says,  "  I  fear  excitement  is  too 
much  the  life  of  all  young  men  now.  When  will  you  be 
quiet  and  steady,  sir  ?  " 

"And  go  to  an  office  every  day,  like  my  uncle  and  cousin; 
and  read  the  newspapers  for  three  hours,  and  trot  back  and 
see  you." 

"  Well,  sir  I  that  ought  not  to  be  such  very  bad  amuse- 
ment," says  one  of  the  ladies. 

"  What  a  clumsy  wretch  I  am  !  my  foot  is  always  tram- 
pling on  something  or  somebody  I  "  groans  Phil. 

"  You  must  come  to  uS;  and  we  will  teach  you  to  dance, 


222  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

Bruin !  "  says  gentle  Agnes,  smiling  on  him.     I  think  when 
very  much  agitated,  her  pulse  must  have  gone  up  to  forty. 
Her  blood  must  have  been  a  light  pink.     The  heart  that 
beat  under  that  pretty  white  chest,  which  she  exposed  so 
liberally,  may  have  throbbed  pretty  quickly  once  or  twice 
with  waltzing,  but  otherwise  never  rose  or  fell  beyond  its 
natural  gentle  undulation.     It  may  have  had  throbs  of  grief 
at  a  disappointment  occasioned  by  the  milliner  not  bringing 
a  dress  home  ;  or  have  felt  some  little  fluttering  impulse  of 
youthful  passion  when  it  was  in  short  frocks,  and  Master 
Gi-rimsby  at  the  dancing-school  showed  some  preference  for 
another  young  pupil  out  of  the  nursery.     But  feelings,  and 
hopes,  and  passions  now  ?     Psha !      They  pass  away  like 
nursery  dreams.     Now  there  are  only  proprieties.     What  is 
love,  young  heart  ?     It  is  two  thousand  a  year,  at  the  very 
lowest  computation;    and,  Avith  the  present  rise  in  wages 
and  house-rent,  that  calculation  can't  last  very  long.     Love  ? 
Attachment  ?     Look  at  Frank  Maythorn,  with  his  vernal 
blushes,  his  leafy  whiskers,  his  sunshiny,  laughing  face,  and 
all  the  birds  of  spring  carolling  in  his  jolly  voice  ;  and  old 
General  Pinwood  hobbling  in  on  his  cork  leg,  with  his  stars 
and   orders,   and  leering  round  the  room  from   under  his 
painted  eyebrows.     Will  my  modest  nymph  go  to  Maythorn, 
or  to  yonder  leering  Satyr,  who  totters  towards  her  in  his 
white  and  rouge  ?     Nonsense.     She  gives  her  garland  to  the 
old  man,  to  be  sure.     He  is  ten  times  as  rich  as  the  young 
one.     And  so  they  Avent  on  in  Arcadia  itself,  really.     Not 
in  that  namby-pamby  ballet  and  idyll  world,  where  they 
tripped  up  to  each  other  in  rhythm,  and  talked  hexameters ; 
but  in  the  real  downright,  no-mistake  country  —  Arcadia  — 
where  Tityrus,  fluting  to  Amaryllis  in  the  shade,  had  his 
pipe  very  soon  put  out  when  Meliboeus  (the  great  grazier) 
performed  on  his  melodious,  exquisite,  irresistible  cowhorn; 
and  where  Daphne's  mother  dressed  her  up  Avith  ribbons  and 
drove  her  to  market,  and  sold  her,  and  swapped  her,  and 
bartered  her  like  any  other  lamb  in  the  fair.     This  one  has 
been  trotted  to  the  market  so  long  uoav  that  she  knoA\^s  the 
Avay  herself.     Her  baa  has  been  heard  for  —  do  not  let  us 
count  hoAv  many  seasons.     She  has  nibbled  out  of  (countless 
hands  ;  frisked  in  many  thousand  dances  ;  come  quite  harm- 
less aAvay  from  goodness  knoAvs  hoAV  many  Avolves.     Ah  !  ye 
lambs  and  raddled  innocents  of  our  Arcadia  !     Ah,  old  Ewe  ! 
Is  it  of  your  ladyship  this  fable  is  narrated  ?     I  say  it  is  as 
old  as  Cadmus,  and  man  and  mutton  kind. 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        223 

So,  when  Philip  comes  to  Beaunash  Street,  Agnes  listens 
to  him  most  kindly,  sweetly,  gently,  and  affectionately. 
Her  pulse  goes  ujj  very  nearly  half  a  beat  when  the  echo  of 
the  horse's  heels  is  heard  in  the  quiet  street.  It  undergoes 
a  corresponding  depression  when  the  daily  grief  of  parting 
is  encountered  and  overcome.  Blanche  and  Agnes  don't 
love  each  other  very  passionately.  If  I  may  say  as  much 
regarding  those  two  lambkins,  they  butt  at  each  other  — 
they  quarrel  with  each  other  —  but  they  have  secret  under- 
standings. During  Phil's  visits  the  girls  remain  together, 
you  understand,  or  mamma  is  with  the  j'^oung  people. 
Female  friends  may  come  in  to  call  on  Mrs.  Twysden,  and 
the  matrons  whisper  together,  and  glance  at  the  cousins, 
and  look  knowing.  '^  Poor  orphan  boy  I "  mamma  says  to 
a  sister  matron.  "  I  am  like  a  mother  to  him  since  my  dear 
sister  died.  His  own  home  is  so  blank,  and  ours  so  merry, 
so  affectionate  !  There  may  be  intimacy,  tender  regard, 
the  utmost  confidence  between  cousins  —  there  may  be  future 
and  even  closer  ties  between  them — but  you  understand, 
dear  Mrs.  Matcham,  no  engagement  between  them.  He  is 
eager,  hot-headed,  impetuous,  and  imprudent,  as  we  all  know. 
She  has  not  seen  the  world  enough  —  is  not  sure  of  herself, 
poor  dear  child!  Therefore  every  circumspection,  every 
caution  is  necessary.  There  must  be  no  engagement,  no 
letters  between  them.  !My  darling  Agnes  does  not  write  to 
ask  him  to  dinner  without  showing  the  note  to  me  or  her 
father.  My  dearest  girls  respect  themselves."  ''Of  course, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Twj'sden,  they  are  admirable,  both  of  them. 
Bless  you,  darlings  I  Agnes,  you  look  radiant !  Ah,  Rosa, 
my  child,  I  wish  you  had  dear  Blanche's  complexion !" 

'•  And  isn't  it  monstrous  keeping  that  poor  boy  hanging 
on  until  Mr.  Woolcomb  has  made  up  his  mind  about  coming 
forward  ?  "  says  dear  !Mrs.  Matcham  to  her  own  daughter, 
as  her  brougham-door  closes  on  the  pair.  "  Here  he  comes  ! 
Here  is  his  cab.  Maria  Twysden  is  one  of  the  smartest 
women  in  England  —  that  she  is." 

"  How  odd  it  is,  mamma,  that  the  becni  cousin  and  Captain 
Woolcomb  are  always  calling,  and  never  call  together!" 
remarks  the  ingenue. 

"They  might  quarrel  if  they  met.  They  say  young  Mr. 
Firmin  is  very  quarrelsome  and  impetuous  ! "  says  mamma. 

"  But  how  are  they  kept  apart  ?  " 

"  Chance,  my  dear !  mere  chance  !  "  says  mamma.  And 
they  agree  to  say  it  is  chance  —  and  they  agree  to  pretend 


224  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

to  believe  one  another.  And  the  girl  and  the  mother  know 
everytliing  about  Woolcomb's  property,  everything  about 
Philip's  property  and  expectations,  everything  about  all  the 
young  men  in  London,  and  those  coming  on.  And  Mrs. 
Matcham's  girl  fished  for  Captain  Woolcomb  last  year 
in  Scotland,  at  Loch  hookey;  and  stalked  him  to  Paris; 
and  they  went  down  on  their  knees  to  Lady  Banbury  when 
they  heard  of  the  theatricals  at  the  Cross  ;  and  pursued  that 
man  about  until  he  is  forced  to  say,  "Confound  me!  hang 
me  !  it's  too  bad  of  that  woman  and  her  daughter,  it  is  now, 
I  give  you  my  honor  it  is !  And  all  the  fellows  chaff  me ! 
And  she  took  a  house  in  Regent's  Park,  opposite  our  bar- 
racks, and  asked  for  her  daughter  to  learn  to  ride  in  our 
school  —  I'm  blessed  if  she  didn't,  Mrs.  Twysden  !  and  I 
thought  my  black  mare  would  have  kicked  her  off  one  day 
— I  mean  the  daughter  —  but  she  stuck  on  like  grim  death", 
and  the  fellows  call  them  Mrs.  Grim  Death  and  her  daughter. 
Our  surgeon  called  them  so,  and  a  doosid  rum  fellow  —  and 
they  chaff  me  about  it,  you  know  —  ever  so  many  of  the 
fellows  do  —  and  /'m  not  going  to  be  had  in  that  way  by 
Mrs.  Grim  Death  and  her  daughter !  No,  not  as  I  knows,  if 
you  please ! " 

"  You  are  a  dreadful  man,  and  you  gave  her  a  dreadful 
name.  Captain  Woolcomb !  "  says  mamma. 

"It  wasn't  me.  It  was  the  surgeon,  you  know,  Miss 
Agnes:  a  doosid  funny  and  witty  fellow,  Nixon  is  —  and 
sent  a  thing  once  to  Punch,  Nixon  did.  I  heard  him  make 
the  riddle  in  Albany  Barracks,  and  it  riled  Poker  so! 
You've  no  idea  how  it  riled  Poker,  for  he's  in  it ! " 

"  In  it  ?  "  asks  Agnes,  with  the  gentle  smile,  the  candid 
blue  eyes  —  the  same  eyes,  expression,  lips,  that  smile  and 
sparkle  at  Philip. 

"  Here  it  is  !  Capital.  Took  it  down.  Wrote  it  into  my 
pocket-book  at  once  as  Nixon  made  it.  ^All  doctors  like  my 
first,  thafs  elect?'/'  Doctor  Firmin  does  that.  Old  Parr 
Street  party  !  Don't  you  see,  Miss  Agnes  ?  Pee  !  Don't 
you  see  ?  " 

"  Fee  !  Oh,  you  droll  thing  !  "  cries  Agnes,  smiling,  radi- 
ant, very  much  puzzled. 

" '  My  second,'  "  goes  on  the  young  officer  —  "  ^  My  second 
gives  us  Foker's  beer  !  '  " 

"  '  My  u'hole's  the  shortest  month  in  all  the  year  !  '  Don't 
you  see,  Mrs.  Twysden  ?  Fee-Brewery,  don't  you  see  ? 
February  !     A  doosid  good  one,  isn't  it  now  ?  and  I  wonder 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH  THE    WORLD.        225 

Punch  never  put  it  in.  And  upon  my  word,  I  used  to  spell 
it  Febuary  before,  I  did ;  and  I  dare  say  ever  so  many  fel- 
lows do  still.  And  I  know  the  right  way  now,  and  all  from 
that  riddle  which  Nixon  made." 

The  ladies  declare  he  is  a  droll  man,  and  full  of  fun.  He 
rattles  on,  artlessly  telling  his  little  stories  of  sport,  drink, 
adventure,  in  which  the  dusky  little  man  himself  is  a  prom- 
inent hgure.  Not  honejMuouthed  Plato  would  be  listened 
to  more  kindly  by  those  three  ladies.  A  bland,  frank  smile 
shines  over  Talbot  Twysden's  noble  face,  as  he  comes  in 
from  his  office,  and  finds  the  Creole  prattling.  "  What,  you 
here,  Woolcomb  ?  Hay  !  Glad  to  see  you  ! "  And  the 
gallant  hand  goes  out  and  meets  and  grasps  Woolcomb's 
tiny  kid  glove. 

"■  He  has  been  so  amusing,  papa !  He  has  been  making  us 
die  with  laughing  !  Tell  pax^a  that  riddle  you  made,  Captain 
Woolcomb  ?  " 

*'  That  riddle  I  made  ?  That  riddle  Nixon,  our  surgeon, 
made.     ^All  doctors  like  my  first,  that's  clear,'"  &c. 

And  da  capo.  And  the  family,  as  he  expounds  this  ad- 
mirable rebus,  gather  round  the  young  officer  in  a  group,  and 
the  curtain  drops. 

As  in  a  theatre  booth  at  a  fair  there  are  two  or  three  x^er- 
formances  in  a  day,  so  in  Beaunash  Street  a  little  genteel 
comedy  is  played  twice  :  —  at  four  o'clock  with  Mr.  Firmin, 
at  five  o'clock  with  Mr.  Woolcomb ;  and  for  both  young  gen- 
tlemen, same  smiles,  same  eyes,  same  voice,  same  welcome. 
Ah,  bravo  !  ah,  encore  ! 


VOL.    I.  —  15 


CHAPTEE  X. 


IN   WHICH    WE    VISIT    "  ADMIRAL    BYNG. 


EOM  long  residence  in 
Bohemia,  and  fatal  love 
of  bachelor  ease  and  hab- 
its, Master  Philip's  pure 
tastes  were  so  destroyed, 
and  his  manners  so  per- 
verted, that,  you  will 
hardly  believe  it,  he  was 
actually  indifferent  to 
the  pleasures  of  the  re- 
fined home  we  have  just 
been  describing ;  and, 
when  Agnes  was  away, 
sometimes  even  when 
I  she  was  at  home,  was 
[jl  quite  relieved  to  get  out 
of  Beaunash  Street.  He 
is  hardly  twenty  yards 

^  _  from  the  door,  when  out 

""      "  ^^^^3-  ^^  of  his  pocket  there  comes 

a  case ;  out  of  the  case 
there  jumps  an  aromatic  cigar,  which  is  scattering  fragrance 
around  as  he  is  marching  briskly  northwards  to  his  next 
house  of  call.  The  pace  is  even  more  lively  now  than  when 
he  is  hastening  on  what  you  call  the  wings  of  love  to  Beau- 
•nash  Street.  At  the  house  whither  he  is  now  going,  he  and 
the  cigar  are  always  welcome.  There  is  no  need  of  munch- 
ing orange  chips,  or  chewing  scented  pills,  or  flinging  your 
weed  away  half  a  mile  before  you  reach  Thornhaugh  Street 
—  the  low,  vulgar  place.  I  promise  you  Phil  may  smoke 
at  Brandon's,  and  find  others  doing  the  same.  He  may  set 
the  house  on  fire,  if  so  minded,  such  a  favorite  is  he  tlu're  ; 
and  the  Little  Sister,  with  her  kind,  beaming  smile,  will  be 
there  to  bid  him  welcome.     How  that  woman  loved  Phil, 

220 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP.  227 

and  how  lie  loved  her,  is  quite  a  curiosity ;  and  both  of 
them  used  to  be  twitted  with  this  attachment  by  their 
mutual  friends,  and  blush  as  they  acknowledged  it.  Ever 
since  the  little  nurse  had  saved  his  life  as  a  school-boy,  it 
was  a  la  vie  a  la  moH  between  them.  Phil's  father's 
chariot  used  to  come  to  Thornhaugh  Street  sometimes  —  at 
rare  times — and  the  doctor  descend  thence  and  have 
colloquies  with  the  Little  Sister.  She  attended  a  patient 
or  two  of  his.  She  was  certainly  very  much  better  oft'  in 
her  money  matters  in  these  late  years,  since  she  had  known 
Dr.  Firmin.  Do  3'ou  think  she  took  money  from  him  ? 
As  a  novelist,  who  knows  everything  about  his  people,  I  am 
constrained  to  say,  Yes.  She  took  enough  to  pay  some 
little  bills  of  her  weak-minded  old  father,  and  send  the 
bailiff's  hand  from  his  old  collar.  But  no  more.  "  I  think 
you  owe  him  as  much  as  that/'  she  said  to  the  doctor. 
But  as  for  compliments  between  them  —  "  Dr.  Firmin,  I 
would  die  rather  than  be  beholden  to  you  for  anything," 
she  said,  with  her  little  limbs  all  in  a  tremor,  and  her  eyes 
flashing  anger.  "  How  dare  you,  sir,  after  old  days,  be  a 
coward  and  pay  compliments  to  me?  I  will  tell  your  son 
of  you,  sir ! "  and  the  little  woman  looked  as  if  she  could 
have  stabbed  the  elderly  libertine  there  as  he  stood.  And 
he  shrugged  his  handsome  shoulders  :  blushed  a  little  too, 
perhaps  :  gave  her  one  of  his  darkling  looks,  and  departed. 
She  had  believed  him  once.  She  had  married  him,  as  she 
fancied.  He  had  tired  of  her;  forsaken  her;  left  her  — 
left  her  even  without  a  name.  She  had  not  known  his  for 
long  years  after  her  trust  and  his  deceit.  "Ko,  sir,  I 
wouldn't  have  your  name  now,  not  if  it  were  a  lord's,  I 
wouldn't,  and  a  coronet  on  your  carriage.  You  are  beneath 
me  now,  ]\rr.  Brand  Firmin  !  "  she  had  said. 

How  came  she  to  love  the  boy  so?  Years  back,  in  her 
own  horrible  extremity  of  misery,  she  could  remember  a 
week  or  two  of  a  brief,  strange,  exquisite  happiness,  which 
came  to  her  in  the  midst  of  her  degradation  and  desertion, 
and  for  a  fcAv  days  a  baby  in  her  arms,  with  eyes  like 
Philip's.  It  was  taken  from  her,  after  a  few  days  —  only 
sixteen  days.  Insanity  came  upon  her,  as  her  dead  infant 
was  carried  away:  —  insanity,  and  fever,  and  struggle  — 
ah  !  who  knows  how  dreadful  ?  She  never  does.  There  is 
a  gap  in  her  life  which  she  never  can  recall  quite.  But 
George  Brand  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.  D.,  knows  how  very  fre- 
quent are  such  cases  of  mania,  and  that  women  who  don't 


228  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

speak  about  them  often  will  cherish  them  for  years  after 
they  appear  to  have  passed  away.  The  Little  Sister  says, 
quite  gravely,  sometimes,  "They  are  allowed  to  come 
back.  They  do  come  back.  Else  what's  the  good  of  little 
cherubs  bein'  born,  and  smilin',  and  happy,  and  beautiful  — 
say  for  sixteen  days,  and  then  an  end  ?  I've  talked  about 
it  to  many  ladies  in  grief  sim'lar  to  mine  was,  and  it  com- 
forts them.  And  when  I  saw  that  child  on  his  sick-bed,  and 
he  lifted  his  eyes,  I  knew  him,  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Ridley.  I 
don't  speak  about  it ;  but  I  knew  him,  ma'am ;  my  angel 
came  back  again.  I  know  him  by  the  eyes.  Look  at  'em. 
Did  you  ever  see  such  eyes  ?  They  look  as  if  they  had 
seen  heaven.  His  father's  don't."  Mrs.  Eidley  believes 
this  theory  solemnly,  and  I  think  I  know  a  lady,  nearly  con- 
nected with  myself,  who  can't  be  got  quite  to  disown  it. 
And  this  secret  opinion  to  women  in  grief  and  sorrow  over 
their  new-born  lost  infants  Mrs.  Brandon  persists  in 
imparting.  "  /  know  a  case,"  the  nurse  murmurs,  "  of 
a  poor  mother  who  lost  her  child  at  sixteen  days  old ; 
and  sixteen  years  after,  on  the  very  day,  she  saw  him 
again." 

Philip  knows  so  far  of  the  Little  Sister's  story,  that  he 
is  the  object  of  this  delusion,  and,  indeed,  it  very  strangely 
and  tenderly  affects  him.  He  remembers  fitfully  the  ill- 
ness through  which  the  Little  Sister  tended  him,  the  wild 
paroxysms  of  his  fever,  his  head  throbbing  on  her  shoulders 
—  cool  tamarind  drinks  wdiich  she  applied  to  his  lips  — 
great  gusty  night  shadows  flickering  through  the  bare 
school  dormitory  —  the  little  figure  of  the  nurse  gliding  in 
and  out  of  the  dark.  He  must  be  aware  of  the  recognition, 
w^hich  we  know  of,  and  which  took  place  at  his  bedside, 
though  he  has  never  mentioned  it  —  not  to  his  father,  nor 
to  Caroline.  But  he  clings  to  the  woman,  and  shrinks 
from  the  man.  Is  it  instinctive  love  and  antipathy  ?  The 
special  reason  for  his  quarrel  with  his  father  the  junior 
Firmin  has  never  explicitly  told  me  then  or  since.  I  have 
known  sons  much  more  confidential,  and  wdio,  when  their 
fathers  tripped  and  stumbled,  would  bring  their  acquaint- 
ances to  jeer  at  the  patriarch  in  his  fall. 

One  day,  as  Philip  enters  Thornhaugh  Street,  and  the 
Sister's  little  parlor  there,  fancy  his  astonishment  on  find- 
ing his  fa;ther's  dingy  friend,  the  Rev.  Tufton  Hunt,  at  his 
ease  by  the  fireside.  "  Surprised  to  see  me  here,  eh  ?  "  says 
the  dingy  gentleman,  with  a  sneer  at  Philip's  lordly  face  of 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        229 

wonder  and  disgust.  "  Mrs.  Brandon  and  I  turn  out  to  be 
very  old  friends." 

'•"Yes,  sir,  old  acquaintances,"  says  tlie  Little  Sister,  very 
gravely. 

'•  The  Captain  brought  me  home  from  tht;  club  at  the 
*  Byng.'  Jolly  fellows  the  Byngs.  My  service  to  you,  Mr. 
Gann  and  ]\Irs.  Brandon,"  And  the  two  persons  addressed 
by  the  gentleman,  who  is  ••  taking  some  refreshment,"  as 
the  phrase  is,  made  a  bow  in  acknowledgment  of  this 
salutation. 

'•  You  should  have  been  at  }>h\  Philip's  call-supper,  Cap- 
tain Gann,"  the  divine  resumes.  "That  was  a  night! 
Tip-top  swells  —  noblemen  —  hrst-rate  claret.  That  claret 
of  your  father's,  Philip,  is  pretty  nearly  drunk  down.  And 
your  song  was  famous.  Did  you  ever  hear  him  sing,  Mrs. 
Brandon  ?  " 

''  Who  do  you  mean  by  klm  ?  "  says  Philip,  who  always 
boiled  with  rage  before  this  man. 

Caroline  divines  the  antipathy.  She  lays  a  little  hand  on 
Philip's  arm.  ''  Mr.  Hunt  has  been  having  too  much,  I 
think,"  she  says.  ''  I  did  know  him  ever  so  long  ago, 
Philip ! " 

''  What  does  he  mean  by  Him  ?  "  again  says  Philip,  snort- 
ing at  Tufton  Hunt. 

''Him?  — Dr.  Luther's  Hymn!  'Wein,  Weib,  und 
Gesang,'  to  be  sure ! "  cries  the  clergyman,  humming  the 
tune.  "1  learned  it  in  Germany,  mvself  —  passed  a 
good  deal  of  time  in  Germany,  Captain  Gann  —  six 
months  in  a  specially  shady  place  —  Quod  Strasse,  in 
rrankfort-on-the-]\raine  —  being  persecuted  by  some  wicked 
Jews  there.  And  there  was  another  poor  English  chap  in 
the  place,  too,  who  used  to  chir]i  that  song  behind  the  bars, 
and  died  there,  and  disappointed  the  Philistines.  I've  seen 
a  deal  of  life,  I  have  ;  and  met  with  a  precious  deal  of 
misfortune  ;  and  borne  it  pretty  stoutly,  too,  since  your 
father  and  I  were  at  college  together,  Philip.  You  don't 
do  anything  in  this  way  ?  Not  so  early,  eh  ?  It's  good 
rum,  Gann,  and  no  mistake.'^  And  again  the  chaplain 
drinks  to  the  Captain,  who  waves  the  dingy  hand  of  hospi- 
tality towards  his  dark  guest. 

For  several  months  past  Hunt  had  now  been  a  resident 
in  London,  and  a  pretty  constant  visitor  at  Dr.  Firmin's 
liouse.  He  came  and  went  at  his  will.  He  made  the  place 
his  house  of  call ;  and  in  the  doctor's  trim,  silent,  orderly 


230  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

•mansion,  was  perfectly  free,  talkative,  dirty,  and  familiar. 
Philip's  loathing  for  the  man  increased  till  it  reached  a 
pitch  of  frantic  hatred.  Mr.  Phil,  theoretically  a  Kadical, 
and  almost  a  Kepublican  (in  opposition,  perhaps,  to  his 
father,  who,  of  course,  held  the  highly  respectable  line  ot 
politics)  —  Mr.  Sansculotte  Phil  was  personally  one  of  the 
most  aristocratic  and  overbearing  of  young  gentlemen ;  and 
had  a  contempt  and  hatred  for  mean  people,  for  base  people, 
for  servile  people,  and  especially  for  too  familiar  people, 
which  was  not  a  little  amusing  sometimes,  which  was  pro- 
voking often,  but  which  he  never  was  at  the  least  pains  of 
disguising.  His  uncle  and  cousin  Twysden,  for  example, 
he  treated  not  half  so  civilly  as  their  footmen.  Little  Talbot 
humbled  himself  before  Phil,  and  felt  not  always  easy  in 
his  company.  Young  Twysden  hated  him,  and  did  not  dis- 
guise his  sentiments  at  the  club,  or  to  their  mutual  ac- 
quaintance behind  Phil's  broad  back.  And  Phil,  for  his 
part,  adopted  towards  his  cousin  a  kick-me-down-stairs 
manner,  which  I  own  must  have  been  provoking  to  that 
gentleman  who  was  Phil's  senior  by  three  years,  a  clerk  in 
a  public  office,  a  member  of  several  good  clubs,  and  alto- 
gether a  genteel  member  of  society.  Phil  would  often  for- 
get Eingwood  Twysden's  presence,  and  pursue  his  own 
conversation  entirely  regardless  of  Eingwood's  observations. 
He  VMS  very  rude,  I  own.  Que  voulez-vous  ?  We  have  all 
of  us  our  little  failings,  and  one  of  Philip's  was  an  ignorant 
impatience  of  bores,  parasites,  and  pretenders. 

So  no  wonder  my  young  gentleman  was  not  very  fond  of 
his  father's  friencf,  the  dingy  jail  chaplain.  I,  who  am 
the  most  tolerant  man  in  the  world,  as  all  my  friends 
know,  liked  Hunt  little  better  than  Phil  did.  The  man's 
presence  made  me  uneasy.  His  dress,  his  complexion,  his 
teeth,  his  leer  at  women  —  Que  sais-je  ?  —  everything  was 
unpleasant  about  this  Mr.  Hunt,  and  his  gayety  and  famili- 
arity more  especially  disgusting  than  even  his  hostility. 
The  wonder  was  that  battle  had  not  taken  place  between 
Philip  and  the  jail  clergyman,  who,  I  suppose,  was  accus- 
tomed to  be  disliked,  and  laughed  with  cynical  good-humor 
at  the  other's  disgust. 

Hunt  was  a  visitor  of  many  tavern  parlors ;  and  one  day, 
strolling  out  of  the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  he  saw  his  friend  Dr. 
Firmin's  well-known  equipage  stopping  at  a  door  in  Thorn- 
haugh  Street,  out  of  which  the  doctor  presently  came  ,• 
"Brandon"  was  on  the  door.     Brandon.  Brandon?     Hunt 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD,        231 

remembered  a  dark  transaction  of  more  than  twenty  years 
ago  —  of  a  woman  deceived  by  this  Firmin,  Avho  then  chose 
to  go  by  the  name  of  Brandon.  "He  lives  with  her  still, 
the  old  hypocrite,  or  he  has  gone  back  to  her,"  thought  the 
parson.  Oh,  you  old  sinner !  And  the  next  time  he  called 
in  Old  Farr  Street  on  his  dear  old  college  friend,  Mr.  Hunt 
was  specially  jocular,  and  frightfully  unpleasant  and  fa- 
miliar. 

-'  Saw  your  trap  Tottenham  Court  Eoad  way,"  says  the 
slang  parson,  nodding  to  the  physician. 

'■  Have  some  patients  there.  People  are  ill  in  Tottenham 
Court  Road,"  remarks  the  doctor. 

^'Pallida  mors  (Bquo  pede  —  hay,  doctor?  AVhat  used 
Flaccus  to  say,  when  we  were  undergrads  ?  " 

'^  .E'luo  pedej*^  sighs  the  doctor,  casting  up  his  line  eyes 
to  the  ceiling. 

"  Sly  old  fox  !  Xot  a  word  will  he  say  about  her  !  "  tliinks 
the  clergyman.  "  Yes,  j'es,  I  remember.  And,  by  Jove  ! 
Gann  was  the  name." 

(xann  was  also  the  name  of  that  queer  old  man  who  fre- 
quented the  "Admiral  Byng,"  where  the  ale  was  so  good — • 
the  old  boy  whom  they  called  the  Ca^^tain.  Yes  5  it  was 
clear  now.  That  ugly  business  was  patched  up.  The 
astute  Hunt  saw  it  all.  The  doctor  still  kept  up  a  connec- 
tion with  the — the  party.  And  that  is  her  old  father, 
sure  enough.  "  The  old  fox,  the  old  fox !  I've  earthed 
him,  have  I  ?  TJiis  is  a  good  game.  I  wanted  a  little 
something  to  do,  and  this  will  excite  me,"  thinks  the 
clergyman. 

I  am  describing  what  I  never  could  have  seen  or  heard,  and 
can  guarantee  only  verisimilitude,  not  truth,  in  my  report 
of  the  private  conversations  of  these  worthies.  The  end  of 
scores  and  scores  of  Hunt's  conversations  with  his  friend 
was  the  same — an  application  for  money.  If  it  rained 
when  Hunt  parted  from  his  college  chum,  it  was,  "  I  say, 
doctor,  I  shall  spoil  my  new  hat,  and  I'm  blest  if  I  have 
any  money  to  take  a  cab.  Thank  you,  old  boy.  Au 
revoir."  If  the  day  was  fine,  it  was,  "  My  old  blacks  show 
the  white  seams  so,  that  you  must  out  of  your  charity  rig 
me  out  with  a  new  pair.  Not  your  tailor.  He  is  too  ex- 
pensive. Thank  you  —  a  couple  of  sovereigns  will  do." 
And  the  doctor  takes  two  from  the  mantel-piece,  and  the 
divine  retires,  jingling  the  gold  in  his  greasy  pocket. 

The  doctor  is  going,  after  the  few  words  about  iKiUida 


232  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

mors,  and  has  taken  up  that  well  brushed  broad  hat,  with 
that  ever-fresh  lining,  which  we  all  admire  in  him  —  "  Oh, 
I  say,  Firmin!"  breaks  out  the  clergyman,  "before  you 
go  out,  you  must  lend  me  a  few  sovs,  jjlease.  They've 
cleaned  me  out  in  Air  Street.  That  confounded  roulette ! 
It's  a  madness  with  me." 

"  By  G-eorge  ! "  cries  the  other,  with  a  strong  execration, 
"you "are  too  bad,  Hunt.  Every  week  of  my  life  you  come 
to  me  for  money.  You  have  had  plenty.  Go  elsewhere. 
I  won't  give  it  you." 

"  Yes,  you  will,  old  boy,"  says  the  other,  looking  at  him 
a  terrible  look ;  "  for  —  " 

"  For  what  ?  "  says  the  doctor,  the  veina  of  his  tall  fore- 
head growing  very  full. 

"For  old  times'  sake,"  says  the  clergyman.  "There's 
seven  of  'em  on  the  table  in  bits  of  paper  —  that'll  do 
nicely."  And  he  sweeps  the  fees  with  a  dirty  hand  into 
a  dirty  pouch.  "  Halloa !  Swearin'  and  cursin'  before  a 
clergyman.  Don't  cut  up  rough,  old  fellow  !  Go  and  take 
the  air.     It'll  cool  you." 

"  I  don't  think  I  would  like  that  fellow  to  attend  me,  if 
I  was  sick,"  says  Hunt,  shuffling  away,  rolling  the  plunder 
in  his  greasy  hand.  "  I  don't  think  I'd  like  to  meet  him 
by  moonlight  alone,  in  a  very  quiet  lane.  He's  a  deter- 
mined chap.  And  his  eyes  mean  michmg  malecho,  his 
eyes  do.  Phew !  "  And  he  laughs,  and  makes  a  rude  ob- 
servation about  Dr.  Firmin's  eyes. 

That  afternoon,  the  gents  who  used  the  "  Admiral  Byng  " 
remarked  the  reappearance  of  the  party  who  looked  in  last 
evening,  and  who  now  stood  glasses  round,  and  made  him- 
self uncommon  agreeable  to  be  sure.  Old  Mr.  Eidley  says 
he  is  quite  the  gentleman.  "  Hevident  have  been  in  foring 
parts  a  great  deal,  and  speaks  the  languages.  Probbly 
have  'ad  misfortunes,  Avhich  many  'ave  'ad  them.  Drinks 
rum-and-water  tremenjous.  'Ave  scarce  no  heppytite. 
Many  get  into  this  way  from  misfortunes.  A  plesn  man, 
most  well  informed  on  almost  every  subjeck.  Tliink  he's 
a  clergyman.  He  and  Mr.  Gann  have  made  quite  a  friend- 
ship together,  he  and  Mr.  Gann  'ave.  Which  they  talked 
of  Watioo,  and  Gann  is  very  fond  of  that,  Gann  is,  most 
certny."  I  imagine  Eidley  delivering  these  sentences,  and 
alternate  little  volleys  of  smoke,  as  he  sits  behind  his  sober 
calumet  and  prattles  in  the  tavern  parlor. 

After  Dr.  Firmin  has  careered  through  the   town,  stand- 


ox  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        233 

ing  by  sick-beds  with  his  sweet  sad  smile,  fondled  and 
blessed  by  tender  mothers,  who  hail  him  as  the  saviour  of 
their  children,  touching  ladies'  pulses  with  a  hand  as  deli- 
cate as  their  own,  patting  little  fresh  cheeks  with  courtly 
kindness  —  little  cheeks  that  owe  their  roses  to  his  marvel- 
lous skill ;  after  he  has  soothed  and  comforted  my  lady, 
shaken  hands  with  my  lord,  looked  in  at  the  club,  and 
exchanged  courtly  salutations  with  brother  bigwigs,  and 
driven  away  in  the  handsome  carriage  with  the  noble 
horses  —  admired,  respecting,  respectful,  saluted,  saluting  — 
so  that  every  man  says,  "Excellent  man,  Firmin.  Excel- 
lent doctor,  excellent  man.  Safe  man.  Sound  man.  Man 
of  good  family.  Married  a  rich  wife.  Lucky  man."  And 
so  on.  After  the  day's  triumphant  career,  I  fancy  I  see 
the  doctor  driving  homeward,  with  those  sad,  sad  eyes,  that 
haggard  smile. 

He  comes  whirling  up  Old  Parr  Street  just  as  Phil  saun- 
ters in  from  Regent  Street,  as  usual,  cigar  in  mouth.  He 
flings  away  the  cigar  as  he  sees  his  father,  and  they  enter 
the  house  together. 

"Do  you  dine  at  home,  Philip  ?  "  the  father  asks. 

"Do  you,  sir  ?  I  will  if  you  do,"  says  the  son,  "and  if 
you  are  alone." 

"  Alone.  Yes.  That  is,  there'll  be  Hunt,  I  suppose, 
whom  you  don't  like.  But  the  poor  fellow  has  few  places 
to  dine  at.  What  ?  D —  Hunt  ?  That's  a  strong  expres- 
sion about  a  poor  fellow  in  misfortune,  and  your  father's 
old  friend." 

I  am  afraid  Philip  had  used  that  wicked  monosyllable 
whilst  his  father  was  speaking,  and  at  the  mention  of  the 
clergyman's  detested  name.  "I  beg  your  pardon,  father. 
It  slipped  out  in  spite  of  me.  I  can't  help  it.  I  hate  the 
fellow." 

"  You  don't  disguise  your  likes  or  dislikes,  Philip,"  says, 
or  rather  groans,  the  safe  man,  the  sound  man,  the  prosper- 
ous man,  the  lucky  man,  the  miserable  man.  For  years 
and  years  he  has  known  that  his  boy's  heart  has  revolted 
from  him,  and  detected  him,  and  gone  from  him ;  and  with 
shame  and  remorse,  and  sickening  feeling,  he  lies  awake  in 
the  night-watches,  and  thinks  how  he  is  alone  —  alone  in 
the  world.  Ah !  Love  your  parents,  young  ones !  O 
Father  Beneficent  !  strengthen  our  hearts  :  strengthen  and 
purify  them  so  that  we  Fiiay  not  have  to  blush  before  our 
children ! 


234  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

"  You  don't  disguise  your  likes  and  dislikes,  Philip," 
says  the  father,  then,  witli  a  tone  that  smites  strangely  and 
keenly  on  the  young  man. 

There  is  a  great  tremor  in  Philip's  voice,  as  he  says, 
*'  No,  father,  I  can't  bear  that  man,  and  I  can't  disguise  my 
feelings.  I  have  just  parted  from  the  man.  I  have  just 
met  him." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"At  —  at  Mrs.  Brandon's,  father."  He  blushes  like  a 
girl  as  he  speaks. 

At  the  next  moment  he  is  scared  by  the  execration  which 
hisses  from  his  father's  lips,  and  the  awful  look  of  hate 
which  the  elder's  face  assumes  —  that  fatal,  forlorn,  fallen, 
lost  look  which,  man  and  boy,  has  often  frightened  poor 
Phil.  Philip  did  not  like  that  look,  nor  indeed  that  other 
one,  which  his  father  cast  at  Hunt,  who  presently  swag- 
gered in. 

"'  What !  you  dine  here  ?  We  rarely  do  papa  the  honor 
of  dining  with  him,"  says  the  parson  with  his  knowing 
leer.  "  I  suppose,  doctor,  it  is  to  be  fatted-calf  day  now 
the  prodigal  has  come  home.  There's  worse  things  than  a 
good  fillet  of  veal ;  eh  ?  " 

Whatever  the  meal  might  be,  the  greasy  chaplain  leered 
and  winked  over  it  as  he  gave  it  his  sinister  blessing.  The 
two  elder  guests  tried  to  be  lively  and  gay,  as  Philip  thought, 
who  took  such  little  trouble  to  disguise  his  own  moods  of 
gloom  or  merriment.  Nothing  was  said  regarding  the  occur- 
rences of  the  morning,  when  my  young  gentleman  had  been 
rather  rude  to  Mr.  Hunt;  and  Philip  did  not  need  his 
father's  caution  to  make  no  mention  of  his  previous  meet- 
ing with  their  guest.  Hunt,  as  usual,  talked  to  the  butler, 
made  sidelong  remarks  to  the  footman,  and  garnished  his 
conversation  with  slippery  double-entendre  and  dirty  old- 
world  slang.  Betting-houses,  gambling-houses,  Tattersall's 
fights,  and  their  frequenters,  were  his  cheerful  themes,  and 
on  these  he  descanted  as  usual.  The  doctor  swallowed  this 
dose,  which  his  friend  poured  out,  without  the  least  expres- 
sion of  disgust.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  cheerful ;  he  was 
for  an  extra  bottle  of  claret  —  it  never  could  be  in  better 
order  than  it  was  now. 

The  bottle  was  scarce  put  on  the  table,  and  tasted  and 
pronounced  perfect,  when  —  oh  !  disappointment!  the  butler 
reappears  with  a  note  for  the  doctor.  One  of  his  patients. 
He  must  go.     She  has  little  the  matter  with  her.     She  lives 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  235 


hard  by,  in  ]May  Fair.  "  You  and  Hunt  finish  this  bottle, 
unless  I  am  back  before  it  is  done ;  and  if  it  is  done,  we'll 
have  another,"  says  Dr.  Firniin,  jovially.  '-Don't  stir, 
Hunt"  —  and  Dr.  Firiuin  is  gone,  leaving  Philip  alone  with 
the  guest  to  whom  he  had  certainly  been  rude  in  the 
morning. 

'•  The  doctor's  patients  often  grow  very  unwell  about 
claret  time,"  growls  Mr.  Hunt,  some  few  minutes  after. 
''  Never  mind.  The  drink's  good  —  good  !  as  somebod}^  said 
at  your  famous  call-supper;  Mr.  Philip  —  won't  call  you 
Philip,  as  you  don't  like  it.  "You  were  uncommon  crusty  to 
me  in  the  morning,  to  be  sure.  In  my  time  there  would 
have  been  bottles  broke,  or  worse,  for  that  sort  of  treat- 
ment." 

"I  have  asked  your  pardon,"  Philip  said.  "I  was 
annoyed  about  —  no  matter  what  —  and  had  no  right  to  be 
rude  to  Mrs.  Brandon's  guest." 

"  I  say,  did  you  tell  the  governor  that  you  saw  me  in 
Thornhaugh  Street  ?  "  asks  Hunt. 

"I  was  very  rude  and  ill-tempered,  and  again  I  confess  I 
was  wrong,"  said  Phil,  boggling,  and  stuttering,  and  turning 
very  red.     He  remembered  his  father's  injunction. 

"  I  say  again,  sir,  did  you  tell  3'our  father  of  our  meeting 
this  morning  ?  "  demands  the  clergyman. 

'' Aud  pray,  sir,  what  right  have  you  to  ask  me  about  my 
private  conversation  with  my  father  ?  "  asks  Philip,  with 
towering  dignity. 

''You  won't  tell  me  ?  Then  you  have  told  him.  He's  a 
nice  man,  your  father  is,  for  a  moral  man." 

"  T  am  not  anxious  for  your  opinion  about  my  father's 
morality,  Mr.  Hunt,"  says  Philip,  gasping  in  a  bewildered 
manner,  and  drumming  the  table.  "  I  am  here  to  replace 
him  in  his  absence,  and  treat  his  guest  with  civility." 

"  Civility  !  Pretty  civility  !  "  says  the  other,  glaring  at 
him. 

"  Such  as  it  is,  sir,  it  is  my  best,  and  —  I  —  I  have  no 
other,"  groans  the  young  man. 

"  Old  friend  of  your  father's,  a  university  man,  a  Master 
of  Arts,  a  gentleman  born,  by  Jove  I  a  clergyman  —  though 
I  sink  that  —  " 

"Yes,  sir,  you  do  sink  that,"  says  Philip. 

"  Am  I  a  dog,"  shrieks  out  the  clergyman,  "  to  be  treated 
b}"  3^ou  in  this  way  ?  Who  are  you  ?  Do  you  know  who 
you  are  ?  " 


236  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

^'  Sir,  I  am  striving  with  all  my  strength  to  remember/' 
says  Philip. 

"  Come !  I  say  !  don't  try  any  of  your  confoundetl  airs  on 
me  !  "  shrieks  Hunt,  with  a  profusion  of  oaths,  and  swallow- 
ing glass  after  glass  from  the  various  decanters  before  him. 
"  Hang  me,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  I  would  have  sent 
one  —  two  at  your  nob,  though  you  were  twice  as  tall !  Who 
are  you,  to  patronize  your  senior,  your  father's  old  pal  —  a 
university  man, — you  confounded,  supercilious  —  " 

"  I  am  here  to  pay  every  attention  to  my  father's  guest," 
says  Phil;  "but  if  you  have  finished  your  wine,  I  shall 
be  happy  to  break  up  the  meeting  as  early  as  you 
please." 

"  You  shall  pay  me ;  I  swear  you  shall,"  says  Hunt. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Hunt !"  cried  Philip,  jumping  up,  and  clenching 
liis  great  lists,  "  I  should  desire  nothing  better." 

The  man  shrank  back,  thinking  Philip  was  going  to  strike 
him  (as  Philip  told  me  in  describing  the  scene),  and  made 
for  the  bell.  But  when  the  butler  came,  Philip  only  asked 
for  coffee  ;  and  Hunt,  uttering  a  mad  oath  or  two,  staggered 
out  of  the  room  after  the  servant.  Price  said  he  had  been 
drinking  before  he  came.  He  was  often  so.  And  Phil 
blessed  his  stars  that  he  had  not  assaulted  his  father's 
guest  then  and  there,  under  his  own  roof-tree. 

He  went  out  into  the  air.  He  gasped  and  cooled  himself 
under  the  stars.  He  soothed  his  feelings  by  his  customary 
consolation  of  tobacco.  He  remembered  that  Ridley  in 
Thornhaugh  Street  held  a  divan  that  night ;  and  jumped 
into  a  cab,  and  drove  to  his  old  friend. 

The  maid  of  the  house,  who  came  to  the  door  as  the  cab 
was  driving  away,  stopped  it ;  and  as  Phil  entered  the 
passage,  he  found  the  Little  Sister  and  his  father  talking 
together  in  the  hall.  The  doctor's  broad  hat  shaded  his 
face  from  the  hall  lamp,  which  was  burning  with  an  extra 
brightness,  but  Mrs.  Brandon's  was  very  pale,  and  she  had 
been  crying. 

She  gave  a  little  scream  when  she  saw  Phil.  "Ah!  is  it 
you,  dear  ?  "  she  said.  She  ran  up  to  him  :  seized  both  his 
hands  :  clung  to  him,  and  sobbed  a  thousand  hot  tears  on 
liis  hand.  "  I  never  will.  Oh,  never,  never,  never ! "  she 
murmured. 

The  doctor's  broad  chest  heaved  as  with  a  great  sigh  of 
relief.  He  looked  at  the  woman  and  at  his  son  with  g 
strange  smile;  —  not  a  sweet  smile. 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.        237 

"God  bless  3^011,  Caroline,"  he  said,  in  his  pompons, 
rather  theatrical  way. 

"  Good-night,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Brandon,  still  clinging  to 
Philip's  hand,  and  making  the  doctor  a  little  hnmble 
conrtesy.  And  when  he  was  gone,  again  she  kissed  Philip's 
hand,  and  dropped  her  tears  on  it,  und  said,  "  Never,  my 
dear ;  no,  never,  never  ! " 


CHAPTER  XI, 


IN    WHICH    PHILIP    IS    VERY    ILL-TEMPERED. 


HILIP  had  long  divined  a 
part  of  his  dear  little  friend's 
history.  An  uneducated 
young  girl  had  been  found, 
cajoled,  deserted  by  a  gentle- 
man of  the  world.  And  poor 
Caroline  was  the  victim,  and 
Philip's  own  father  the  se- 
ducer. He  easily  guessed  as 
much  as  this  of  the  sad 
little  story.  Dr.  Firmin's 
part  in  it  was  enough  to 
shock  his  son  with  a  thrill  of 
disgust,  and  to  increase  the 
mistrust,  doubt,  alienation, 
with  which  the  father  had 
long  inspired  the  son.  What 
would  Philip  feel,  when  all 
the  pages  of  that  dark  book 
were  opened  to  him,  and  he  came  to  hear  of  a  false  marriage, 
and  a  ruined  and  outcast  woman,  deserted  for  years  by  the 
man  to  whom  he  himself  was  most  bound  ?  In  a  word, 
Philip  had  considered  this  as  a  mere  case  of  early  liber- 
tinism, and  no  more ;  and  it  was  as  such,  in  the  very  few 
words  which  he  may  have  uttered  to  me  respecting  this 
matter,  that  he  had  chosen  to  regard  it.  I  knew  no  more 
than  my  friend  had  told  me  of  the  story  as  yet;  it  was 
by  degrees  that  I  learned  it,  and  as  events,  now  subsequent, 
served  to  develop  and  explain  it. 

The  elder  Firmin,  when  questioned  by  his  old  acquaint- 
ance, and,  as  it  appeared,  accomplice  of  former  days 
regarding  the  end  of  a  certain  intrigue  at  Margate,  which 
had  occurred  some  four  or  five-and-twenty  years  back,  and 
when  Firmin,  having  reason  to  avoid  his  college  creditors, 
chose  to  live  away  and  bear  a  false  name,  had   told  the 

238 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP.  239 

clergyman  a  iiiiinber  of  falsehoods  which  appeared  to 
satisfy  him.  AVliat  had  become  of  that  poor  little  thing 
about  whom  he  had  made  such  a  fool  of  himself  ?  Oh,  she 
was  dead,  dead  ever  so  many  years  before.  He  had 
pensioned  her  off.  She  had  married,  and  died  in  Canada — 
yes,  in  Canada.  Poor  little  thing !  Yes,  she  was  a  good 
little  thing,  and,  at  one  time,  he  had  been  very  soft  about 
her.  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  state  of  a  respectable  gentle- 
man that  he  told  lies,  and  told  lies  habitually  and  easily. 
But,  you  see,  if  you  commit  a  crime,  and  break  a  seventh 
commandment,  let  us  say,  or  an  eighth,  or  choose  any 
number  you  will  —  you  will  probably  have  to  back  the  lie 
of  action  by  the  lie  of  the  tongue,  and  so  you  are  fairly 
warned,  and  I  have  no  help  for  you.  If  I  murder  a  man, 
and  the  policeman  inquires,  "Pray,  sir,  did  you  cut  this 
here  gentleman's  throat  ?  "  I  must  bear  false  witness,  you 
see,  out  of  self-defence,  though  I  may  be  naturally  a  most 
reliable,  truth-telling  man.  And  so  with  regard  to  many 
crimes  which  gentlemen  commit  —  it  is  painful  to  have  to 
say  respecting  gentlemen,  but  they  become  neither  more 
nor  less  than  habitual  liars,  and  have  to  go  lying  on  through 
life  to  you,  to  me,  to  the  servants,  to  their  wives,  to  their 

children,  to oh,  awful  name  !    I  bow  and  humble  myself. 

May  we  kneel,  may  we  kneel,  nor  strive  to  speak  our  false- 
hoods before  Thee ! 

And  so,  my  dear  sir,  seeing  that  after  committing  any 
infraction  of  the  moral  laws,  you  must  tell  lies  in  order  to 
back  yourself  out  of  your  scrape,  let  me  ask  you,  as  a 
man  of  honor  and  a  gentleman,  whether  you  had  not  better 
forego  the  crime,  so  as  to  avoid  the  unavoidable,  and 
unpleasant,  and  daily  recurring  necessity  of  the  subsequent 
perjury  ?  A  poor  young  girl  of  the  lower  orders  cajoled, 
or  ruined,  more  or  less,  is  of  course  no  great  matter.  The 
little  baggage  is  turned  out  of  doors  —  worse  luck  for  her! 
—  or  she  gets  a  place,  or  she  marries  one  of  her  own  class, 
Avho  has  not  the  exquisite  delicacy  belonging  to  "gentle 
blood  "  —  and  there  is  an  end  of  her.  But  if  you  marry  her 
privately  and  irregularly  yourself,  and  then  throw  her  off, 
and  then  marry  somebody  else,  you  are  brought  to  book  in 
all  sorts  of  unpleasant  ways.  I  am  writing  of  quite  an  old 
story,  be  pleased  to  remember.  The  first  part  of  the 
history  I  myself  printed  some  twenty  years  ago;  and  if 
you  fancy  I  allude  to  any  more  modern  period,  madam,  you 
are  entirely  out  in  your  conjecture. 


240  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

It  must  have  been  a  most  unpleasant  duty  for  a  man  of 
fashion,  honor,  and  good  family,  to  lie  to  a  poor  tipsy  dis- 
reputable bankrupt  merchant's  daughter,  such  as  Caroline 
Gann,  but  George  Brand  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.  D.,  had  no  other 
choice,  and  when  he  lied  —  as  in  severe  cases  when  he 
administered  calomel  —  he  thought  it  best  to  give  the  drug 
freely.  Thus  he  lied  to  Hunt,  saying  that  Mrs.  Brandon 
was  long  since  dead  in  Canada;  and  he  lied  to  Caroline, 
prescribing  for  her  the  very  same  pill,  as  it  were,  and  say- 
ing that  Hunt  was  long  since  dead  in  Canada  too.  And  I 
can  fancy  few  more  painful  and  humiliating  positions  for  a 
man  of  rank  and  fashion  and  re2)utation,  than  to  have  to 
demean  himself  so  far  as  to  tell  lies  to  a  little  low-bred 
person,  who  gets  her  bread  as  a  nurse  of  the  sick,  and  has 
not  the  proper  use  of  her  A's. 

''  Oh,  yes,  Hunt !  "  Firmin  had  said  to  the  Little  Sister, 
in  one  of  those  sad  little  colloquies  which  sometimes  took 
place  between  him  and  his  victim,  his  wife  of  old  days. 
"A  wild,  bad  man  Hunt  was  —  in  days  when  I  own  I  was 
little  better !  I  have  deeply  repented  since,  Caroline ;  of 
nothing  more  than  of  my  conduct  to  you ;  for  you  were 
worthy  of  a  better  fate,  and  you  loved  me  truly  —  madly." 

"Yes,"  says  Caroline. 

"I  was  wild  then  !  I  was  desperate  !  I  had  ruined  my 
fortunes,  estranged  my  father  from  me,  was  hiding  from 
my  creditors  under  an  assumed  name  —  that  under  which  I 
saw  you.  Ah,  why  did  I  ever  come  to  your  house,  my 
poor  child  ?  The  mark  of  the  demon  was  upon  me.  I  did 
not  dare  to  speak  of  marriage  before  my  father.  You  have 
yours,  and  tend  him  with  your  ever  constant  goodness. 
Do  you  know  that  my  father  would  not  see  me  when  he 
died  ?  Oh,  it's  a  cruel  thing  to  think  of  !  "  And  the  suf- 
fering creature  slaps  his  tall  forehead  with  his  trembling 
hand ;  and  some  of  his  grief  about  his  own  father,  I  dare 
say,  is  sincere,  for  he  feels  the  shame  and  remorse  of  being 
alienated  from  his  own  son. 

As  for  the  marriage  —  that  it  was  a  most  wicked  and 
unjustihable  deceit,  he  owned;  but  he  Avas  wild  when  it 
took  place,  wild  with  debt  and  with  despair  at  his  father's 
estrangement  from  him  —  but  the  fact  was,  it  was  no 
marriage. 

''  I    am    glad  of   that ! "   sighed   the  poor   Little   Sister. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  other  eagerly.  His  love  was  dead, 
but  his  vanity  was  still  hale  and  well.     "Did  you  care  for 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        241 

somebody  else,  Caroline  ?  Did  you  forget  your  George, 
whom  you  used  to  —  " 

"No!  "  said  the  little  Avoman,  bravely.  "But  I  couldn't 
live  with  a  man  who  behaved  to  any  Avoman  so  dishonest 
as  you  behaved  to  me.  I  liked  you  because  I  thought  you 
was  a  gentleman.  My  poor  painter  was,  Avhom  you  used  to 
despise  and  trampled  to  hearth  —  and  my  dear,  dear  Philip 
is,  5rr.  Firmin.  But  gentlemen  tell  the  truth!  Gentlemen 
don't  .deceive  poor  innocent  girls,  and  desert  'em  without  a 
penny ! " 

"  Caroline  !  I  was  driven  by  my  creditors.     I  — '' 

"Never  mind.  It's  over  now.  I  bear  you  no  malice, 
Mr.  Firmin,  but  I  would  not  marry  you,  no,  not  to  be 
doctor's  wife  to  the  Queen  !  " 

This  had  been  the  Little  Sister's  language  when  there 
was  no  thought  of  the  existence  of  Hunt,  the  clergyman 
who  had  celebrated  their  marriage ;  and  I  don't  know 
whether  Firmin  was  most  pi(][ued  or  pleased  at  the  divorce 
which  the  little  woman  pronounced  of  her  own  decree. 
But  when  the  ill-omened  Hunt  made  his  appearance, 
doubts  and  terrors  filled  the  physician's  mind.  Hunt 
was  needy,  greedy,  treacherous,  unscrupulous,  desperate. 
He  could  hold  this  marriage  over  the  doctor.  He  could 
threaten,  extort,  expose,  perhaps  invalidate  Philip's  legiti- 
macy. The  first  marriage,  almost  certainly,  was  null,  but 
the  scandal  would  be  fatal  to  Firmin 's  reputation  and  prac- 
tice. And  the  quarrel  with  his  son  entailed  consequences 
not  pleasant  to  think  of.  You  see  George  Firmin,  Esq., 
M.  I).,  was  a  man  with  great  development  of  the  back 
head ;  Avhen  he  willed  a  thing,  he  Avilled  it  so  fiercely  that 
he  7)iust  have  it,  never  mind  the  consequences.  And  so 
he  had  willed  to  make  himself  master  of  poor  little  Caro- 
line :  and  so  he  had  willed,  as  a  young  man,  to  have  horses, 
splendid  entertainments,  roulette  and  ecarte,  and  so  forth ; 
and  the  bill  came  at  its  natural  season,  and  George  Firmin, 
Ksq.,  did  not  always  like  to  pay.  But  for  a  grand,  pros- 
perous, highly  bred  gentleman  in  the  best  society  —  with  a 
polished  forehead  and  manners,  and  universally  looked  up  to 
—  to  have  to  tell  lies  to  a  poor  little,  timid,  uncomplaining, 
sick-room  nurse,  was  humiliating,  wasn't  it  ?  And  I  can 
feel  for  Firmin. 

To  have  to  lie  to  Hunt  was  disgusting :  but  somehow  not 
so  exquisit(4y  mean  and  degrading  as  to  have  to  cheat  a 
little  trusting,  humble,  houseless  creature,  over  the  bloom 

VOL.    T.  16 


242  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

of  whose  gentle  young  life  his  accursed  foot  had  already- 
trampled.  But  then  this  Hunt  was' such  a  cad  and  ruffian 
that  there  need  be  no  scruple  about  humbugging  him  ;  and 
if  Firmin  had  had  any  humor  he  might  have  had  a  grim 
sort  of  pleasure  in  leading  the  dirty  clergyman  a  dance 
thoro'  bush  thoro'  briar.  So,  perhaps  (of  course  I  have  no 
means  of  ascertaining  the  fact),  the  doctor  did  not  alto- 
gether dislike  the  duty  which  now  devolved  on  him  of 
hoodwinking  his  old  acquaintance  and  accomplice.  I  don't 
like  to  use  such  a  vulgar  phrase  regarding  a  man  in  Doctor 
Firmin's  high  social  position  as  to  say  of  him  and  the  jail 
chaplain  that  it  was  "  thief  catch  thief  "  ;  but  at  any  rate 
Hunt  is  such  a  low,  graceless,  friendless  vagabond,  that  if 
he  comes  in  for  a  few  kicks,  or  is  mystified,  we  need  not  be 
very  sorry.  When  Mr.  Thurtell  is  hung  we  don't  put  on 
mourning.  His  is  a  painful  position  for  the  moment ;  but, 
after  all,  he  has  murdered  ]Mr.  William  Weare. 

Firmin  was  a  bold  and  courageous  man,  hot  in  pursuit, 
fierce  in  desire,  but  cool  in  danger,  and  rapid  in  action. 
Some  of  his  great  successes  as  a  jjhysician  arose  from  his 
daring  and  successful  practice  in  sudden  emergency. 
While  Hunt  was  only  lurching  about  the  town  an  aim- 
less miscreant,  living  from  dirty  hand  to  dirty  mouth,  and 
as  long  as  he  could  get  drink,  cards,  and  shelter,  tolerably 
content,  or  at  least  pretty  easily  appeased  by  a  guinea-dose 
or  two  —  Firmin  could  adopt  the  palliative  system  ;  soothe 
his  patient  with  an  occasional  bounty :  set  him  to  sleep 
with  a  composing  draught  of  claret  or  brandy  ;  and  let  the 
day  take  care  of  itself.  He  might  die ;  he  might  have  a 
fancy  to  go  abroad  again  ;  he  might  be  transported  for 
forgery  or  some  other  rascaldom.  Dr.  Firmin  would  console 
himself ;  and  he  trusted  to  the  chapter  of  accidents  to  get 
rid  of  his  friend.  But  Hunt,  aware  that  the  woman  was 
alive  whom  he  had  actually,  though  unlawfully,  married  to 
Firmin,  became  an  enemy  whom  it  was  necessary  to  sub- 
due, to  cajole,  or  to  bribe,  and  the  sooner  the  doctor  put 
himself  on  his  defence  the  better.  What  should  the  de- 
fence be  ?  Perhaps  the  most  effectual  was  a  fierce  attack 
on  the  enemy ;  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  bribe  him. 
The  course  to  be  taken  would  be  best  ascertained  after  a 
little  previous  reconnoitring. 

^'  He  will  try  and  inflame  Caroline,"  the  doctor  thought, 
"by  representing  her  wrongs  and  her  rights  to  her.  He 
will  show  her,  that,  as  my  wife,  she  has  a  right  to  my  name 


ox  HIS    WAY  THROUGH  THE    WORLD.        243 

and  a  sliare  of  ray  iucome.  A  less  mercenary  woman  never 
lived  than  this  poor  little  creature.  She  disdains  money, 
and,  except  for  her  father's  sake,  would  have  taken  none 
of  mine.  But  to  punish  me  for  certainly  rather  shabby 
behavior;  to  claim  and  take  her  own  right  and  position 
in  the  world  as  an  honest  woman,  may  she  not  be  induced 
to  declare  war  against  me,  and  stand  by  her  marriage  ? 
After  she  left  home  her  two  Irish  half-sisters  deserted  her, 
and  spat  upon  her ;  and  when  she  would  have  returned 
the  heartless  women  drove  her  from  the  door.  Oh,  the 
vixens  !  And  now  to  drive  by  them  in  her  carriage,  to 
claim  a  maintenance  from  'me,  and  to  have  a  right  to  my 
honorable  name,  would  she  not  have  her  dearest  revenge 
over  her  sisters  b}^  so  declaring  her  marriage  ?  " 

Firmin's  noble  mind  misgave  him  very  considerably  on 
this  point.  He  knew  women,  and  how  those  had  treated 
their  little  sister.  Was  it  in  human  nature  not  to  be 
revenged  ?  These  thoughts  rose  straightway  in  Firmin's 
mind,  when  he  heard  that  the  much  dreaded  meeting 
between  Caroline  and  the  chaplain  had  come  to   pass. 

As  he  ate  his  dinner  with  his  guest,  his  enemy,  opposite 
to  him,  he  was  determining  on  his  plan  of  action.  The 
screen  was  up,  and  he  was  laying  his  guns  behind  it,  so  to 
speak.  Of  course  he  was  as  civil  to  Hunt  as  the  tenant  to 
his  landlord  when  he  comes  with  no  rent.  So  the  doctor 
laughed,  joked,  bragged,  talked  his  best,  and  was  thinking 
the  while  what  was  to  be  done  against  the  danger. 

He  had  a  plan  which  might  succeed.  He  must  see  Caro- 
line immediately.  He  knew  the  weak  point  of  her  heart, 
and  where  she  was  most  likely  to  be  vulnerable.  And  he 
would  act  against  her  as  barbarians  of  old  acted  against 
their  enemies,  when  they  brought  the  captive  wives  and 
children  in  front  of  the  battle,  and  bade  the  foe  strike 
through  them.  He  knew  how  Caroline  loved  his  boy.  It 
was  through  that  love  he  would  work  upon  her.  As  he 
washes  his  pretty  hands  for  dinner,  and  bathes  his  noble 
brow,  he  arranges  his  little  plan.  He  orders  himself  to  be 
sent  for  soon  after  the  second  bottle  of  claret  —  and  it 
appears  the  doctor's  servants  were  accustomed  to  the 
delivery  of  these  messages  from  the  master  to  himself. 
The  plan  arranged,  now  let  us  take  our  dinner  and  our 
wine,  and  make  ourselves  comfortable  until  the  moment  of 
action.  In  his  wild-oats  days,  when  travelling  abroad  with 
wild  and  noble  companions,  Firmin  had  fought  a  duel  or 


244  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 


two,  and  was  always  remarkable  for  his  gayety  of  conversa^- 
tioii  and  the  fine  appetite  which  he  showed  at  breaktast 
before  going  on  to  the  field.  So,  perhaps,  Hunt,  had  lie 
not  been  stupefied  by  previous  drink,  might  have  taken  the 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        245 

alarm  by  remarking  Firmin's  extra  courtesy  and  gayety,  as 
they  dined  together.     It  was  nunc  vinum,  eras  cequor. 

When  the  second  bottle  of  claret  was  engaged,  Dr.  Fir- 
min  starts.  He  has  an  advance  of  half  an  hour  at  least 
on  his  adversar}^,  or  on  the  man  who  may  be  his  adversary. 
If  the  Little  Sister  is  at  home,  he  will  see  her  —  he  will 
lay  bare  his  candid  heart  to  her,  and  make  a  clean  breast  of 
it.     The  Little  Sister  was  at  home. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you  very  particularly  about  that 
case  of  poor  Lady  Humandhaw,"  says  he,  dropping  his 
voice. 

"I  will  step  out,  my  dear,  and  take  a  little  fresh  air," 
says  Captain  Gann;  meaning  that  he  will  be  off  to  the 
"Admiral  Byng  "  ;  and  the  two  are  together. 

"I  have  had  something  on  my  conscience.  I  have  de- 
ceived you,  Caroline,"  says  the  doctor,  with  the  beautiful 
shining  forehead  and  hat. 

'"Ah,  Mr.  Firmin,"  says  she,  bending  over  her  work; 
"you've  used  me  to  that." 

"A  man  whom  you  knew  once,  and  who  tempted  me  for 
his  own  selhsh  ends  to  do  a  very  wrong  thing  by  you  —  a 
man  whom  I  thought  dead  is  alive :  —  Tufton  Hunt,  who 
performed  that  —  that  illegal  ceremony  at  Margate,  of 
which  so  often  and  often  on  my  knees  I  have  repented, 
Caroline  ! " 

The  beautiful  hands  are  clasped,  the  beautiful  deep  voice 
thrills  lowly  through  the  room  ;  and  if  a  tear  or  two  can 
be  squeezed  out  of  the  beautiful  eyes,  I  dare  say  the  doctor 
will  not  be  sorry. 

"  He  has  been  here  to-day.  Him  and  Mr.  Philip  was  here 
and  quarrelled.     Philip  has  told  you,  I  suppose,  sir  ?  " 

"  Before  heaven,  '  on  the  word  of  a  gentleman,'  when  I 
said  he  was  dead,  Caroline,  I  thought  he  was  dead  !  Yes, 
I  declare,  at  our  college,  Maxwell  —  Dr.  Maxwell  —  who 
had  been  at  Cambridge  with  us,  told  me  that  our  old  friend 
Hunt  had  died  in  Canada."  (This,  my  beloved  friends  and 
readers,  may  not  have  been  the  precise  long  bow  which 
George  Pirrain,  Esq.,  M.D.,  pulled;  but  that  he  twanged  a 
famous  lie  out,  whenever  there  was  occasion  for  the  weapon, 
I  assure  you  was  an  undoubted  fact.)  "  Yes,  Dr.  Maxwell 
told  me  our  old  friend  was  dead  —  our  old  friend  ?  My 
worst  enemy  and  yours!  But  let  that  pass.  It  was  he, 
Caroline,  avIio  led  me  into  crimes  which  I  have  never 
ceased  to  deplore." 


246  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

"All,  Mr.  rirniin,"  sighs  the  Little  Sister,  "since  I've 
known  you,  you  was  big  enough  to  take  care  of  yourself  in 
that  way." 

"  I  have  not  come  to  excuse  myself,  Caroline,"  says  the 
deep  sweet  voice.  "  I  have  done  you  enough  wrong,  and  I 
feel  it  here  —  at  this  heart.  I  have  not  come  to  speak 
about  myself,  but  of  some  one  I  love  the  best  of  all  the 
world  —  the  only  being  I  do  love  —  some  one  you  love,  you 
good  and  generous  soul  —  about  Philip." 

"  What  is  it  about  Philip  ? "  asks  Mrs.  Brandon,  very 
quickly. 

"  Do  you  want  harm  to  happen  to  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  darling  boy,  no ! "  cries  the  Little  Sister,  clasp- 
ing her  little  hands. 

"  Would  you  keep  him  from  harm  ?  " 

"Ah,  sir,  you  know  I  would.  When  he  had  the  scarlet 
fever,  didn't  I  pour  the  drink  down  his  poor  throat,  and 
nurse  him,  and  tend  him,  as  if,  as  if  —  as  a  mother  would 
her  own  child  ?  " 

"You  did,  you  did,  you  noble,  noble  woman;  and  heaven 
bless  you  for  it !  A  father  does.  I  am  not  all  heartless, 
Caroline,  as  3^ou  deem  me,  perhaps." 

"I  don't  think  it's  much  merit  your  loving  him,''''  says 
Caroline,  resuming  her  sewing.  And,  perhaps,  she  thinks 
within  herself,  "  What  is  he  a-coming  to  ?  "  You  see  she 
was  a  shrewd  little  person  when  her  passions  and  partiali- 
ties did  not  overcome  her  reason ;  and  she  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  this  elegant  Dr.  Firmin,  whom  she  had  ad- 
mired so  once,  was  a  —  not  altogether  veracious  gentleman. 
In  fact,  I  heard  her  myself  say  afterwards,  "La!  he  used  to 
talk  so  fine,  and  slap  his  hand  on  his  heart,  you  know ;  but 
I  usedn't  to  believe  him,  no  more  than  a  man  in  a  play." 
"  It's  not  much  merit  your  loving  that  boy,"  says  Caroline, 
then.     "  But  what  about  him,  sir  ?  " 

Then  Firmin  explained.  This  man  Hunt  was  capable  of 
any  crime  for  money  or  revenge.  Seeing  Caroline  was 
alive  .  .  . 

"I  s'pose  you  told  him  I  was  dead,  too,  sir,"  said  she, 
looking  up  from  the  work. 

"  Spare  me,  spare  me.  Years  ago,  perhaps,  when  I  had 
lost  sight  of  you,  I  may,  perhaps,  have  thought  ..." 

"  And  it's  not  to  you,  George  Brandon  —  it's  not  to  yon," 
cries  Caroline,  starting  up,  and  speaking  with  her  sweet, 
ce ;  "  it's  to  kind;  dear  friends,  —  it's 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        247 

to  my  good  God  that  I  owe  my  life,  which  you  had  flung  it 
away.  And  I  paid  yon  back  by  guarding  your  boy's  dear 
life,  I  did,  under  —  under  Him  who  giveth  and  taketh. 
And  bless  His  name  !  " 

"  You  are  a  good  woman,  and  I  am  a  bad,  sinful  man, 
Caroline,"  says  the  ether.  "  You  saved  my  Philip's  —  our 
Pnilip's  life,  at  the  risk  of  your  own.  Now  I  tell  you  that 
another  immense  danger  menaces  him,  and  may  come  upon 
him  any  day  as  long  as  yonder  scoundrel  is  alive.  Suppose 
his  character  is  assailed;  suppose,  thinking  you  dead,  I 
married  another  ?  " 

"Ah,  G-eorge,  you  never  thought  me  dead;  though,  per- 
haps, you  wished  it,  sir.  And  many  would  have  died," 
added  the  poor  Little  Sister. 

"  Look,  Caroline  !  If  I  was  married  to  you,  my  wife  — 
Philip's  mother  —  was  not  my  wife,  and  he  is  her  natural 
son.  The  property  he  inherits  does  not  belong  to  him. 
The  children  of  his  grandfather's  other  daughter  claim  it, 
and  Philip  is  a  beggar.  Philip,  bred  as  he  has  been  — 
Philip,  the  heir  to  a  mother's  large  fortune." 

"And — and  his  father's,  too?"  asks  Caroline,  anxiously. 

"I  daren't  tell  you  —  though,  no,  by  heavens!  I  can 
trust  you  with  everything.  My  own  great  gains  have  been 
swallowed  up  in  speculations  which  have  been  almost  all 
fatal.  There  has  been  a  fate  hanging  over  me,  Caroline  — 
a  righteous  punishment  for  having  deserted  you.  I  sleep 
with  a  sword  over  my  head,  which  may  fall  and  destroy 
me.  I  walk  with  a  volcano  under  my  feet,  which  may 
burst  any  day,  and  annihilate  me.  And  people  speak  of 
the  famous  Dr.  Firmin,  the  rich  Dr.  Firmin,  the  prosperous 
Dr.  Firmin !  I  shall  have  a  title  soon,  I  believe.  I  am  be- 
lieved to  be  happy,  and  I  am  alone,  and  the  wretchedest 
man  alive." 

"Alone,  are  you  ?  "  said  Caroline.  "There  was  a  woman 
once  who  would  have  kept  by  you,  only  you  —  you  flung 
her  away.  Look  here,  George  Brandon.  It's  over  with  us. 
Years  and  years  ago  it  lies  where  a  little  cherub  was  buried. 
But  I  love  my  Philip;  and  I  won't  hurt  him,  no,  never, 
never,  never  ! " 

And,  as  the  doctor  turned  to  go  away,  Caroline  followed 
him  wistfully  into  the  hall,  and  it  was  there  that  Philip 
found  them. 

Caroline's  tender  "  never,  never,"  rang  in  Philip's  mem- 
ory as  he  sat  at  Kidley's  party^  amidst  the  artists  and  au- 


248  THE  ADVEyrUIiES   OF  PHILIP 

thors  there  assembled.  Pliil  was  thoughtful  and  silent. 
He  did  not  laugh  very  loud.  He  did  not  praise  or  abuse 
anybody  outrageously,  as  was  the  wont  of  that  most  em- 
phatic young  gentleman.  He  scarcely  contradicted  a  single 
person;  and  perhaps,  when  Larkins  said  Scumble's  last 
picture  was  beautiful,  or  Bunch,  the  critic  of  the  ConnGis- 
seur,  praised  Bowman's  last  novel,  contented  himself  with 
a  scornful  '^  Ho  !  "  and  a  pull  at  his  whiskers,  by  wa}'  of 
protest  and  denial.  Had  he  been  in  his  usual  fine  spirits 
and  enjoying  his  ordinary  flow  of  talk,  he  would  have  in- 
formed Larkins  and  the  assembled  company  not  only  that 
Scumble  was  an  impostor,  but  that  he,  Larkins,  was  an 
idiot  for  admiring  him.  He  would  have  informed  Bunch 
that  he  was  infatuated  about  that  jackass  Bowman,  that 
cockney,  that  Avretched  ignoramus,  who  didn't  know  his 
own  or  any  other  language.  He  would  have  taken  down 
one  of  Bowman's  stories  from  the  shelf,  and  proved  the 
folly,  imbecility,  and  crass  ignorance  of  that  author.  (Eid- 
ley  has  a  simple  little  stock  of  novels  and  poems  in  an  old 
cabinet  in  his  studio,  and  reads  them  still  with  much  art- 
less wonder  and  respect.)  Or,  to  be  sure,  Phil  would  have 
asserted  propositions  the  exact  contrary  of  those  here 
maintained,  and  declared  that  Bowman  was  a  genius,  and 
Scumble  a  most  accomplished  artist.  But  then,  you  know, 
somebody  else  must  have  commenced  by  taking  the  other 
side.  Certainly  a  more  paradoxical,  and  provoking,  and 
obstinate,  and  contradictory  disputant  than  Mr.  Phil,  I 
never  knew.  I  never  met  Dr.  Johnson,  who  died  before  I 
came  up  to  town  ;  but  I  do  believe  Phil  Firmin  would  have 
stood  up  and  argued  even  wdth  him. 

At  these  Thursday  divans  the  host  provided  the  modest 
and  kindly  refreshment,  and  Betsy  the  maid,  or  Virgilio 
the  model,  travelled  to  and  fro  with  glasses  and  water. 
Each  guest  brought  his  own  smoke,  and  I  promise  you 
there  were  such  liberal  contributions  of  the  article  that  the 
studio  was  full  of  it ;  and  new-comers  used  to  be  saluted 
by  a  roar  of  laughter,  as  you  heard,  rather  than  saw,  them 
entering  and  choking  in  the  fog.  It  was  "  Holloa,  Prod- 
gers  !  is  that  you,  old  boy  ?  "  and  the  beard  of  Prodgers 
(that  famous  sculptor)  would  presently  loom  through  the 
cloud.  It  was  "Xewcome,  how  goes?"  and  Mr.  Clive 
Newcome  (a  mediocre  artist,  I  must  own,  but  a  famous 
good  fellow,  with  an  uncommonly  pretty  villa  and  pretty 
and  rich  wife  at  Wimbledon),  would  make  his  appearance. 


ox  HIS    WAY  THROUGH  THE    WORLD.        249 

and  be  warmly  greeted  by  our  little  host.  It  was  '^Is 
that  you,  F.  B.  ?  Would  you  like  a  link,  old  boy,  to  see 
3'ou  through  the  fog  ?  "  And  the  deep  voice  of  Frederick 
Bayham,  Esquire  (the  eminent  critic  on  Art),  would  boom 
out  of  the  tobacco-mist,  and  would  exclaim,  ''A  link?  I 
would  like  a  drink."  Ah,  ghosts  of  youth,  again  ye  draw 
near  !  Old  figures  glimmer  through  the  cloud.  Old  songs 
echo  out  of  the  distance.  What  were  you  saying  anon 
about  Dr.  Johnson,  boys  ?  I  am  sure  some  of  us  must  re- 
member him.  As  for  me,  I  am  so  old  that  I  might  have 
been  at  Edial  school  —  the  other  pupil  along  with  little 
Davy  Garrick  and  his  brother. 

W^e  had  a  bachelor's  supper  in  the  Temple  so  lately  that 
I  think  we  must  pay  but  a  very  brief  visit  to  a  smoking 
party  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  or  the  ladies  will  say  that  we 
are  too  fond  of  bachelor  habits,  and  keep  our  friends  aAvay 
from  their  charming  and  amiable  society.  A  novel  must 
not  smell  of  cigars  much,  nor  should  its  refined  and  genteel 
page  be  stained  with  too  frequent  brandy-and-water.  Please 
to  imagine,  then,  the  prattle  of  the  artists,  authors,  and 
amateurs  assembled  at  Ridley's  divan.  Fancy  Jarman,  the 
miniature  painter,  drinking  more  liquor  than  any  man  pres- 
ent, asking  his  neighbor  (sub  voce)  why  Ridley  does  not 
give  his  father  (the  old  butler)  five  shillings  to  wait; 
suggesting  that  perhaps  the  old  man  is  gone  out,  and  is 
getting  seven-and-sixpence  elsewhere ;  praising  Ridlej^'s 
picture  aloud,  and  sneering  at  it  in  an  undertone ;  and 
when  a  man  of  rank  happens  to  enter  the  room,  shambling 
up  to  him  and  fawning  on  him,  and  cringing  to  him  with 
fulsome  praise  and  flattery.  When  the  gentleman's  back 
is  turned,  Jarman  can  spit  epigrams  at  it.  I  hope  he  will 
never  forgive  Ridley,  and  always  continue  to  hate  him : 
for  hate  him  Jarman  will,  as  long  as  he  is  prosperous  and 
curse  him  as  long  as  the  world  esteems  him.  Look  at  P3^m, 
the  incumbent  of  Saint  Bronze  hard  by,  coming  in  to  join 
the  literary  and  artistic  assembly,  and  choking  in  his  white 
neckcloth  to  the  diversion  of  all  the  company  who  can  see 
him  !  Sixteen,  eighteen,  twenty  men  are  assembled.  Open 
the  windows,  or  sure  they  will  all  be  stifled  with  the  smoke  ! 
Why,  it  fills  the  whole  house  so  that  the  Little  Sister  has 
to  open  her  parlor  window  on  the  ground-floor,  and  gasp  for 
fresh  air. 

Phil's  head  and  cigar  are  thrust  out  from  a  window  above, 
and  he  lolls  there,  musing  about  his  own  affairs,   as   his 


250  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

smoke  ascends  to  the  skies.  Young  Mr.  Pliili^J  Firmin  is 
known  to  be  wealthy,  and  his  father  gives  very  good  parties 
in  Old  Parr  Street,  so  Jarman  sidles  up  to  Phil  and  wants  a 
little  fresh  air  too.  He  enters  into  conversation  by  abusing 
Eidley's  picture  that  is  on  the  easel. 

"Everybody  is  praising  it;  what  do  you  think  of  it, 
Mr.  Firmin  ?  Very  queer  drawing  about  those  eyes,  isn't 
there  ?  " 

"  Is  there  ?  "  growls  Phil. 

'^^Very  loud  color." 

"  Oh  !  "  says  Phil. 

"  The  composition  is  so  clearly  prigged  from  Eaphael." 

"  Indeed  ! " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  don't  think  you  know  who  I  am," 
continues  the  other,  with  a  simper. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  says  Phil  glaring  at  him.  "  You're  a  painter 
and  your  name  is  Mr.  Envy." 

"  Sir  !  "  shrieks  the  painter ;  but  he  is  addressing  himself 
to  the  tails  of  Phil's  coat,  the  superior  half  of  Mr.  Firmin's 
body  is  stretching  out  of  the  window.  Now  you  may  speak 
of  a  man  behind  his  back,  but  not  to  him.  So  Mr.  Jarman 
withdraws,  and  addresses  himself,  face  to  face  to  somebody 
else  in  the  company.  I  dare  say  he  abuses  that  upstart,  im- 
pudent, bumptious  young  doctor's  son.  Have  I  not  owned 
that  Philip  was  often  very  rude  ?  and  to-uight  he  is  in  a 
specially  bad  humor. 

As  he  continues  to  stare  into  the  street,  who  is  that  who 
has  just  reeled  up  to  the  railings  below,  and  is  talking  in  at 
Mrs.  Brandon's  window  ?  Whose  blackguard  voice  and 
laugh  are  those  which  Phil  recognizes  w4th  a  shudder  ?  It 
is  the  voice  and  laugh  of  our  friend  Mr.  Hunt,  whom  Philip 
left  not  very  long  since,  near  his  father's  house  in  Old  Parr 
Street ;  and  both  of  those  familiar  sounds  are  more  vinous, 
more  odious,  more  impudent  than  they  w^ere  even  two  hours 

"  Holloa !  I  say  !  "  he  calls  out  with  a  laugh  and  a  curse. 
"  Pst !  Mrs.  What-d'you-call-'em  !  Hang  it !  don't  shut  the 
window.  Let  a  fellow  in ! "  and  as  he  looks  towards  the 
upper  window,  where  Philip's  head  and  bust  appear  dark 
before  the  light,  Hunt  cries  out,  "  Holloa !  what  game's  up 
now,  I  wonder  ?  Supper  and  ball.  Shouldn't  be  surprised." 
And  he  hiccoughs  a  waltz  tune,  and  clatters  time  to  it  with 
his  dirty  boots. 

"Mrs.  What-d'you-call !  Mrs.  B ! "  the  sot  then  recom- 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        25 L 

mences  to  shriek  out.  "  Must  see  you  —  most  particular 
business.  Private  and  confidential.  Hear  of  something-  to 
your  advantage."  And  rap,  rap,  rap,  he  is  now  thundering 
at  the  door.  In  the  clatter  of  twenty  voices  few  hear 
Hunt's  noise  except  Philip ;  or,  if  they  do,  only  imagine 
that  another  of  Kidley's  guests  is  arriving. 

At  the  hall-door  there  is  talk  and  altercation,  and  the  high 
shriek  of  a  well-known  odious  voice.  Philip  moves  quickly 
from  his  window,  shoulders  friend  Jarman  at  the  studio 
door,  and  hustling  past  him  obtains,  no  doubt,  more  good 
wishes  from  that  ingenious  artist.  Philip  is  so  rude  and 
overbearing  that  I  really  have  a  mind  to  depose  him  from 
his  place  of  hero  —  only,  you  see,  we  are  committed.  His 
name  is  on  the  page  overhead,  and  we  can't  take  it  down  and 
put  up  another.  The  Little  Sister  is  standing  in  her  hall 
by  the  just  oj^ened  door,  and  remonstrating  with  Mr.  Hunt, 
who  appears  to  wish  to  force  his  way  in. 

"  Pooh  !  shtuff,  my  dear !  If  he's  here  I  musht  see  him 
—  particular  business  —  get  out  of  that!"  and  he  reels 
forward  and  against  little  Caroline's  shoulder. 

"  Get  away,  you  brute,  you  !  "  cries  the  little  lady.  "  Go 
home,  Mr.  Hunt;  you  are  worse  than  you  were  this  morn- 
ing." She  is  a  resolute  little  woman,  and  puts  out  a  firm 
little  arm  against  this  odious  invader.  She  has  seen 
patients  in  hospital  raging  in  fever :  she  is  not  frightened 
by  a  tipsy  man.  '^  La  !  is  it  you,  Mr.  Philip  ?  Who  ever 
will  take  this  horrid  man  ?  "  He  ain't  fit  to  go  upstairs 
among  the  gentlemen  ;  indeed  he  ain't." 

"You  said  Firmin  was  here — and  it  isn't  the  father. 
It's  the  cub  !  I  want  the  doctor.  Where's  the  doctor  ?  " 
hiccoughs  the  chaplain,  lurching  against  the  wall ;  and  then 
he  looks  at  Philip  with  bloodshot  eyes,  that  twinkle  hate. 
"  Who  wantsh  you,  I  shlike  to  know  ?  Had  enough  of  you 
already  to-day.  Conceited  brute.  Don't  look  at  vie  in  that 
sortaway !  I  ain't  afraid  of  you  —  ain't  afraid  anybody. 
Time  was  when  I  was  a  young  man  fight  you  as  soon  as  look 
at  you.     I  say,  Philip  !  " 

"  Go  home,  now.  Do  go  home,  there's  a  good  man,"  says 
the  landlady. 

"  I  say  !  Look  here  —  hie  —  hi !  Philip  !  On  your  word 
as  a  gentleman,  your  father's  not  here  ?  He's  a  sly  old 
boots,  Brummell  Firmin  is  —  Trinity  man  —  I'm  not  a  Trin- 
ity man  —  Corpus  man.  I  say,  Philip,  give  us  your  hand. 
Bear  no  malice.     Look  here  —  something  very  particular. 


252  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

After  dinner  —  went  into  Air  Street  —  you  know — rouge 
(jay lie,  et  couleur  —  cleaned  out.  Cleaned  out,  on  the  honor 
of  a  gentleman  and  master  of  arts  of  the  University  of 
Cambridge.  So  was  your  father — -no,  he  went  out  in  med- 
icine, I  say,  Philip,  hand  us  out  five  sovereigns,  and  let's 
try  the  luck  again !  What,  you  won't !  It's  mean,  I  say. 
Don't  be  mean." 

"Oh,  here's  five  shillings  !  Go  and  have  a  cab.  Fetch  a 
cab  for  him,  Virgilio,  do !  "  cries  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

"That's  not  enough,  my  dear!"  cries  the  chaplain,  ad- 
vancing towards  Mrs.  Brandon,  with  such  a  leer  and  air, 
that  Philip,  half  choked  with  passion,  runs  forward,  grips 
Hunt  by  the  collar,  and  crying  out,  "  You  filthy  scoundrel ! 
as  this  is  not  my  house,  I  may  kick  you  out  of  it ! "  —  in 
another  instant  has  run  Hunt  through  the  passage,  hurled 
him  down  the  steps,  and  sent  him  sprawling  into  the 
kennel. 

"Row  down  below,"  says  Eosebury,  placidly,  looking 
from  above.  "  Personal  conflict.  Intoxicated  individual  — 
in  gutter.     Our  impetuous  friend  has  floored  him." 

Hunt,  after  a  moment,  sits  up  and  glares  at  Philip.  He 
is  not  hurt.  Perhaps  the  shock  has  sobered  him.  Ho 
thinks,  perhaps,  Philip  is  going  to  strike  again.  "Hands 
off,  Bastard  !  "  shrieks  out  the  prostrate  wretch. 

"  O  Philip,  Philip  !  He's  mad,  he's  tipsy  ! "  cries  out  the 
Little  Sister,  running  into  the  street.  She  puts  her  arms 
round  Philip.  "  Don't  mind  him,  dear  —  he's  mad  !  Police- 
man !  The  gentleman  has  had  too  much.  Come  in,  Philip ; 
come  in  !  " 

She  took  him  into  her  little  room.  She  was  pleased  with 
the  gallantry  of  the  boy.  She  liked  to  see  him  just  now, 
standing  over  her  enemy,  courageous,  victorious,  her  cham- 
pion. "La!  how  savage  he  did  look;  and  how  brave  and 
strong  you  are  !  But  the  little  wretch  ain't  fit  to  stand  be- 
fore such  as  you  !  "  And  she  passed  her  little  hand  down 
his  arm,  of  which  the  muscles  were  all  in  a  quiver  from  the 
recent  skirmish. 

"  What  did  the  scoundrel  mean  by  calling  me  bastard  ?  " 
said  Philip,  the  wild  blue  eyes  glaring  round  about  with 
more  than  ordinary  fierceness. 

"jSTonsense,  dear!  AVho  minds  anything  he  saj^s,  that 
beast  ?  His  language  is  always  horrid  ;  he's  not  a  gentle- 
man. He  had  had  too  much  this  morning  when  he  was  here. 
What  matters  what  he  says  ?     He  won't  know  anything 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        253 

about  it  to-morrow.  But  it  was  kind  of  my  Philip  to  rescue 
his  poor  little  iiurse,  wasu't  it  ?  Like  a  novel.  Come  in, 
and  let  me  make  you  some  tea.  Don't  go  to  no  more  smok- 
ing :  you  have  had  enough.     Come  in  and  talk  to  me." 

And,  as  a  mother,  with  sweet  pious  face,  yearns  to  her 
little  children  from  her  seat,  she  fondles  him,  she  watches 
him ;  she  fills  her  teapot  from  her  singing  kettle.  She 
talks  —  talks  in  her  homely  way,  and  on  this  subject  and 
that.  It  is  a  wonder  how  she  prattles  on,  who  is  generally 
rather  silent.  She  won't  see  Phil's  eyes,  which  are  follow- 
ing her  about  very  strangely  and  fiercely.  And  when  again 
he  mutters,  ''What  did  he  mean  by  ...  "  ''La,  my  dear, 
how  cross  you  are  !  "  she  breaks  out.  "  It's  always  so  ;  you 
won't  be  happy  without  your  cigar.  Here's  a  cheroot,  a 
beauty  !  Pa  brought  it  home  from  the  club.  A  China  cap- 
tain gave  him  some.  You  must  light  it  at  the  little  end. 
There  ! "  And  if  I  could  draw  the  picture  which  my  mind 
sees  of  her  lighting  Phil's  cheroot  for  him,  and  smiling  the 
while,  the  little  innocent  Delilah  coaxing  and  wheedling  this 
young  Samson,  I  know  it  would  be  a  pretty  picture.  I  wish 
Ridley  would  sketch  it  for  me. 


CHAPTER   XII. 


DAMOCLES. 


N  the  next  morning,  at  an  hour 
so  early  that  Old  Parr  Street 
was  scarce  awake,  and  even  the 
maids  wdio  wash  the  broad  steps 
of  the  houses  of  the  tailors  and 
medical  gentlemen  who  inhabit 
that  region  had  not  yet  gone 
down  on  their  knees  before  their 
respective  doors,  a  ring  was 
heard  at  Dr.  Firmin's  night-bell, 
and  when  the  door  w^as  opened 
by  the  yawning  attendant,  a 
little  person  in  a  gray  gown  and 
a  black  bonnet  made  her  ap- 
pearance, handed  a  note  to  the 
servant,  and  said  the  case  was 
most  urgent  and  the  doctor 
must  come  at  once.  Was  not 
Lad}^  Humandhaw  the  noble 
j^erson  whom  we  last  mentioned, 
as  the  invalid  about  whom  the  doctor  and  the  nurse  had 
spoken  a  few  words  on  the  previous  evening  ?  The  Little 
Sister,  for  it  was  she,  used  the  very  same  name  to  the  ser- 
vant, who  retired  grumbling  to  waken  up  his  master  and 
deliver  the  note. 

Nurse  Brandon  sat  awhile  in  the  great  gaunt  dining-room 
where  hung  the  portrait  of  the  doctor  in  his  splendid  black 
collar  and  cuffs,  and  contemplated  this  masterpiece  until  an 
invasion  of  housemaids  drove  her  from  the  apartment,  when 
she  took  refuge  in  that  other  little  room  to  which  Mrs.  Pir- 
min's  portrait  had  been  consigned. 

"  That's  like  him  ever  so  many  years  and  years  ago,"  she 
thinks.  "It  is  a  little  handsomer;  but  it  has  his  wicked 
look  that  I  used  to  think  so  killing,  and  so  did  my  sisters, 

254 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP.  255 

both  of  tliem — tliey  were  read}^  to  tear  out  each  other's 
eyes  for  jealousy.  And  that's  Mrs.  Firmin  !  Well,  I  sup- 
pose the  painter  haven't  flattered  her.  If  he  have  she 
could  have  been  no  great  things,  Mrs.  F.  couldn't."  And 
the  doctor,  entering  softly  by  the  opened  door  and  over  the 
thick  Turkey  carpet,  comes  up  to  her  noiselessly,  and  hnds 
the  Little  Sister  gazing  at  the  portrait  of  the  departed  Isidj. 

'-  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it  ?  I  wonder  whether  you  treated  her 
no  better  than  you  treated  me.  Dr.  F.  I've  a  notion  she's 
not  the  only  one.  She  don't  look  happy,  poor  thing,"  says 
the  little  lady. 

'•  What  is  it,  Caroline  ? "  asks  the  deep-voiced  doctor ; 
*'  and  what  brings  you  so  early  ?  " 

The  Little  Sister  then  explains  to  him.  '-Last  night 
after  he  went  away  Hunt  came,  sure  enough.  He  had  been 
drinking.  He  was  ver}^  rude,  and  Philip  wouldn't  bear  it. 
Philip  had  a  good  courage  of  his  own  and  a  hot  blood. 
And  JPhilip  thought  Hunt  was  insulting  her,  the  Little  Sis- 
ter. So  he  up  with  liis  hand  and  down  goes  Mr.  Hunt  on 
the  pavement.  Well,  when  he  was  down  he  was  in  a  dread- 
ful way,  and  he  called  Philip  a  dreadful  name." 

"  A  name  ?  what  name  ?  "  Then  Caroline  told  the  doctor 
the  name  Mr.  Hunt  had  used ;  and  if  Firmin's  face  usually 
looked  wicked,  I  dare  say  it  did  not  seem  very  angelical 
when  he  heard,  how  this  odious  name  had  been  applied  to 
his  son.  ''  Can  he  do  Philip  a  mischief  ?  "  Caroline  con- 
tinued. "  I  thought  I  was  bound  to  tell  his  father.  Look 
here,  Doctor  F.,  I  don't  want  to  do  my  dear  boy  a  harm. 
But  suppose  what  3'ou  told  me  last  night  isn't  true  —  as  I 
don't  think  you  much  mind  —  mind — saj'ing  things  as  are 
incorrect,  j'ou  know,  when  us  women  are  in  the  case.  But 
suppose  when  you.  played  the  villain,  thinking  only  to  take 
in  a  poor  innocent  girl  of  sixteen,  it  was  you  who  were 
took  in,  and  that  I  was  your  real  wife  after  all  ?  There 
would  be  a  punishment !  " 

"  I  should  have  an  honest  and  good  wife,  Caroline,"  said 
the  doctor,  with  a  groan. 

"  This  would  be  a  punishment,  not  for  you,  but  for  mj 
poor  Philip,"  the  woman  goes  on.  ''What  has  he  done, 
that  his  honest  name  should  be  took  from  him  —  and  his 
fortune  perhaps  ?  I  have  been  lying  broad  awake  all  night 
thinking  of  him.  Ah,  George  Brandon  I  Why,  why  did 
you  come  to  my  poor  old  father's  house,  and  bring  this 
misery  down  on  me,  a.nd  on  your  child  unborn  ?  " 


256  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

"  On  myself,  the  worst  of  all/'  says  the  doctor. 

"  You  deserve  it.  But  it's  us  innocent  that  has  had,  or 
will  have,  to  suffer  most.  0  George  Brandon  !  Think  of  a 
poor  child,  flung  away,  and  left  to  starve  and  die,  without 
even  so  much  as  knowing  your  real  name  !  Think  of  your 
boy,  perhaps  brought  to  shame  and  poverty  through  your 
fault ! " 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  often  think  of  my  wrong  ?  " 
says  the  doctor.  "  That  it  does  not  cause  me  sleepless 
nights,  and  hours  of  anguish  ?  Ah !  Caroline  ! "  and  he 
looks  in  the  glass ;  "  I  am  not  shaved,  and  it's  very  unbe- 
coming," he  thinks ;  that  is,  if  I  may  dare  to  read  his 
thoughts,  as  I  do  to  report  his  unheard  words. 

"  You  think  of  your  wrong  now  it  may  be  found  out,  I 
dare  say ! "  says  Caroline.  "  Suppose  this  Hunt  turns 
against  you  ?  He  is  desperate  ;  mad  for  drink  and  money  ; 
has  been  in  jail  —  as  he  said  this  very  night  to  me  and  my 
papa.  He'll  do  or  say  anything.  If  you  treat  him  hard, 
and  Philip  have  treated  him  hard  —  not  harder  than  served 
him  right  though  —  he'll  pull  the  house  down,  and  himself 
under  it,  but  he'll  be  revenged.  Perhaps  he  drank  so  much 
last  night  that  he  may  have  forgot.  But  I  fear  he  means 
mischief,  and  I  came  here  to  say  so,  and  hoping  that  you 
might  be  kep'  on  your  guard.  Doctor  F.,  and  if  you  have  to 
quarrel  with  him,  I  don't  know  what  you  ever  wall  do,  I  am 
sure  —  no  more  than  if  you  had  to  fight  a  chimney-sweep 
in  the  street.  I  have  been  awake  all  night  thinking,  and 
as  soon  as  ever  I  saw  the  daylight,  I  determined  I  would 
run  and  tell  you." 

"When  he  called  Philip  that  name,  did  the  boy  seem 
much  disturbed  ?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"Yes;  he  referred  to  it  again  and  again  —  though  I  tried 
to  coax  him  out  of  it.  But  it  was  on  his  mind  last  night, 
and  I  am  sure  he  will  think  of  it  the  first  thing  this  morn- 
ing. Ah,  yes,  doctor !  conscience  will  sometimes  let  a 
gentleman  doze  ;  but  after  discovery  has  come,  and  opened 
your  curtains,  and  said,  'You  desired  to  be  called  early  !' 
there's  little  use  in  trying  to  sleep  much.  You  look  very 
much  frightened.  Doctor  F.,"  the  nurse  continues.  "You 
haven't  such  a  courage  as  Philip  has ;  or  as  you  had  when 
you  were  a  young  man,  and  came  a-leading  poor  girls 
astray.  You  used  to  be  afraid  of  nothing  then.  Do  you 
remember  that  fellow  on  board  the  steamboat  in  Scotland 
in  our  wedding-trip,  and,  la !    I  thought  you  was  going  to 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WOULD.        257 

kill  liiin.  That  poor  little  Lord  Ciiiqbiirs  told  me  ever  so 
many  stories  then  about  your  courage  and  shooting  people. 
It  wasn't  very  courageous,  leaving  a  poor  girl  without  even 
a  name,  and  scarce  a  guinea,  was  it?  But  I  ain't  come  to 
call  up  old  stories  —  only  to  warn  you.  Even  in  old  times, 
Avhen  he  married  us,  and  I  tli ought  he  was  doing  a  kind- 
ness, I  never  could  abide  this  horrible  man.  In  Scotland, 
Avhen  you  was  away  shooting  -with  your  poor  little  lord, 
the  things  Hunt  used  to  say  and  look  was  dreadful.  I 
wonder  how  ever  you,  who  were  gentlemen,  could  put  up 
Avith  such  a  fellow !  Ah,  that  was  a  sad  hone^'moon  of 
jQurs  !  I  wonder  why  I'm  a-thinking  of  it  now  ?  I  sup- 
pose it's  from  having  seen  the  picture  of  the  other  one  — 
poor  lady  ! " 

"  I  have  told  you,  Caroline,  that  I  was  so  Avild  and  des- 
perate at  that  unhappy  time,  I  was  scarcely  accountable 
for  my  actions.  If  I  left  you,  it  was  because  I  had  no 
other  resource  but  flight.  I  was  a  ruined,  penniless  man, 
but  for  my  marriage  with  Ellen  Eingwood.  You  don't  sup- 
pose the  marriage  was  happy  ?  Happy  !  when  have  I  ever 
been  happy  ?  My  lot  is  to  be  wretched,  Fj:d  bring  wretch- 
edness down  on  those  I  love  !  On  you,  on  my  father,  on 
my  wife,  on  my  boy  —  I  am  a  doomed  man.  Ah,  that  the 
innocent  should  suffer  for  me ! "  And  our  friend  looks 
askance  in  the  glass,  at  the  blue  chin,  and  hollow  eyes 
which  make  his  guilt  look  the  more  haggard. 

"  I  never  had  my  lines,"  the  Little  Sister  continued,  "  I 
never  knew  there  Avere  papers,  or  writings,  or  anything  but 
a  ring  and  a  clergyman,  when  you  married  me.  But  I've 
heard  tell  that  people  in  Scotland  don't  Avant  a  clergyman 
at  all ;  and  if  they  call  themselves  man  and  Avife,  they  are 
man  and  Avife.  ISToav,  sir,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brandon  certainly 
did  travel  together  in  Scotland  —  Avitness  that  man  Avhom 
you  Avere  going  to  throAV  into  the  lake  for  being  rude  to 
your  Avife  —  and  ...  La!  don't  fly  out  so!  It  Avasn't  me, 
a  ])oor  girl  of  sixteen,  Avho  did  Avrong.  It  Avas  you,  a  man 
of  the  Avorld,  Avho  AA'as  years  and  years  older." 

When  Brandon  carried  off  his  poor  little  A^ctim  and 
Avife,  there  had  been  a  journey  to  Scotland,  Avhere  Lord 
Cinqbars,  then  aliA^e,  had  sporting  quarters.  His  lordship's 
chaplain.  ^Nfr.  Hunt,  had  been  of  the  party,  Avhich  fate  very 
soon  afterwards  separated.  Death  seized  on  Cinqbars  at 
Naples.  Debt  caused  Firmin  —  Brandon,  as  he  called  him- 
self then  —  to   fly  the   countr3\     The    chaplain  AA^andered 

A'OL.    I.  — 17 


258  THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

from  jail  to  jail.  And  as  for  poor  little  Caroline  Bran- 
don, I  su23pose  the  husband  who  had  married  her  under  a 
false  name  thought  that  to  escape  her,  leave  lier,  and  dis- 
own her  altogether  was  an  easier  and  less  dangerous  plan 
than  to  continue  relations  with  her.  So  one  day,  four 
months  after  their  marriage,  the  young  couple  being  then 
at  Dover,  Caroline's  husband  happened  to  go  out  for  a 
walk.  But  he  sent  away  a  portmanteau  by  the  back-door 
when  he  went  out  for  the  walk,  and  as  Caroline  Avas  wait- 
ing for  her  little  dinner  some  hours  after,  the  porter  who 
carried  the  luggage  came  with  a  little  note  from  her 
dearest  G.  B. ;  and  it  was  full  of  little  fond  expressions  of 
regard  and  affection,  such  as  gentlemen  put  into  little 
notes;  but  dearest  G.  B.  said  the  baililfs  were  upon  him, 
and  one  of  them  had  arrived  that  morning,  and  he  must 
fly :  and  lie  took  half  the  money  he  had,  and  left  half  for 
his  little  Carry.  And  he  would  be  back  soon,  and  arrange 
matters ;  or  tell  her  where  to  write  and  follow  him.  And 
she  was  to  take  care  of  her  little  health,  and  to  Avrite  a 
grea,t  deal  to  her  Georgy.  And  she  did  not  know  how  to 
write  very  well  then;  but  she  did  her  best,  and  improved 
a  great  deal;  for,  indeed,  she  wrote  a  great  deal,  poor 
thing.  Sheets  and  sheets  of  paper  she  blotted  with  ink 
and  tears.  And  then  the  money  was  spent ;  and  the  next 
money  ;  and  no  more  came,  and  no  more  letters.  And  she 
was  alone  at  sea,  sinking,  sinking,  when  it  pleased  heaven 
to  send  that  friend  to  rescue  her.  It  is  such  a  sad,  sad 
little  story,  that  in  fact  I  don't  like  dwelling  on  it ;  not 
caring  to  look  upon  poor  innocent,  trusting  creatures  in 
pain. 

.  .  .  Well,  then,  when  Caroline  exclaimed,  "  La !  don't 
fly  out  so,  Dr.  Firmin  ! "  I  suppose  the  doctor  had  been  cry- 
ing out,  and  swearing  fiercely,  at  the  recollections  of  his 
friend  ^Mr.  Brandon,  and  at  the  danger  which  possibly  hung 
over  that  gentleman.  Marriage  ceremonies  are  dangerous 
risks  in  jest  or  in  earnest.  You  can't  pretend  to  marry 
even  a  poor  old  bankrupt  lodging-house-keeper's  daughter 
without  some  risk  of  being  brought  subsequently  to  book. 
If  you  have  a  vulgar  wife  alive,  and  afterwards  choose  to 
leave  her  and  marry  an  earl's  niece,  you  will  come  to 
trouble,  however  well  connected  you  are  and  highly  placed 
in  society.  If  you  have  had  thirty  thousand  pounds  with 
wife  No.  2,  and  have  to  pay  it  back  on  a  sudden,  the  pay- 
ment may  be  inconvenient.     You  may  be  tried  for  bigamy, 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        259 

and  sentenced,  goodness  knows  to  what  punishment.  At 
any  rate,  if  the  matter  is  made  public,  and  you  are  a  most 
respectalile  man,  moving  in  the  highest  scientific  and  social 
circles,  those  circles  may  be  disposed  to  request  you  to 
walk  out  of  their  circumference.  A  novelist,  1  know,  ought 
to  have  no  likes,  dislikes,  pit}',  partiality  for  his  characters ; 
but  I  declare,  I  cannot  help  feeling  a  respectful  compassion 
for  a  gentleman  who,  in  consequence  of  a  youthful,  and,  1 
am  sure,  sincerely  regretted  folly,  may  be  liable  to  lose  his 
fortune,  his  place  in  society,  and  his  considerable  practice. 
Punishment  hasn't  a  right  to  come  with  such  a|:>e^e  claudo. 
There  ought  to  be  limitations ;  and  it  is  shabby  and 
revengeful  of  Justice  to  present  her  little  bill  when  it  has 
been  more  than  twenty  years  owing.  .  .  .  Having  had 
his  talk  out  with  the  Little  Sister ;  having  a  long-past  crime 
suddenly  taken  down  from  the  shelf;  having  a  remorse 
long  since  supposed  to  be  dead  and  buried,  suddenly  start- 
ing up  in  the  most  blustering,  boisterous,  inconvenient 
manner ;  having  a  rage  and  terror  tearing  him  within ;  I 
can  fancy  this  most  respectable  physician  going  about  his 
day's  work,  and  most  sincerely  sympathize  with  him. 
Who  is  to  heal  the  physician  ?  Is  he  not  more  sick  at 
heart  than  most  of  his  patients  that  day  ?  He  has  to 
listen  to  Lady  Megrim  cackling  for  half  an  hour  at  least, 
and  describing  her  little  ailments.  He  has  to  listen,  and 
never  once  to  dare  to  say,  "Confound  you,  old  chatterbox! 
What  are  you  prating  aljout  your  ailments  to  me,  who  am 
suffering  real  torture  whilst  I  am  smirking  in  your  face  ?" 
He  has  to  wear  the  inspiriting  smile,  to  breathe  the  gentle 
joke,  to  console,  to  whisper  hope,  to  administer  remedy ; 
and  all  day,  perhaps,  he  sees  no  one  so  utterly  sick,  so  sad, 
so  despairing,  as  himself. 

The  first  person  on  whom  he  had  to  practise  hypocrisy 
that  day  was  his  own  son,  who  chose  to  come  to  breakfast 
—  a  meal  of  which  son  and  father  seldom  now  partook  in 
company.  "What  does  he  know,  and  what  does  he  sus- 
pect ?  "  are  the  father's  thoughts  ;  but  a  lowering  gloom  is 
on  Philip's  face,  and  the  father's  eyes  look  into  the  son's, 
but  cannot  penetrate  their  darkness. 

"  Did  you  stay  late  last  night,  Philip  ?  "  says  papa. 

"  Yes,  sir,  rather  late,"  answers  the  son. 

"  Pleasant  party  ?  " 

"  Xo,  sir,  stupid.  Your  friend  Mr.  Hunt  wanted  to  come 
in.     He  was  drunk,  and  rude  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  I  was 


2G0  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

obliged  to  put  him  out  of  the  door.  He  was  dreadfully 
violent  and  abusive." 

"  Swore  a  good  deal,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Fiercely,  sir,  and  called  names." 

I  dare  say  Philip's  heart  beat  so  when  he  said  these  last 
words  that  they  Avere  inaudible :  at  all  events,  Philip's 
father  did  not  appear  to  pay  much  attention  to  the  words, 
for  he  wa^  busy  reading  the  Morning  Fost,  and  behind  that 
sheet  of  fashionable  news  hid  whatever  expression  of 
agony  there  might  be  on  his  face.  Philip  afterwards  told 
his  present  biographer  of  this  breakfast  meeting  and  dreary 
tete-a-tete.  "I  burned  to  ask  what  was  the  meaning  of 
that  scoundrel's  words  of  the  past  night,"  Philip  said  to  his 
biographer;  "but  I  did  not  dare,  somehow.  You  see, 
Pendennis,  it  is  not  pleasant  to  say  point-blank  to  your 
father,  '  Sir,  are  you  a  confirmed  scoundrel,  or  are  you  not  ? 
Is  it  possible  that  you  have  made  a  double  marriage,  as 
yonder  other  rascal  hiuted;  and  that  my  own  legitimacy 
and  my  mother's  fair  fame,  as  well  as  poor,  harmless  Caro- 
line's honor  and  happiness,  have  been  destroyed  by  your 
crime?'  But  I  had  lain  awake  all  night  thinking  about 
that  scoundrel  Hunt's  words,  and  whether  there  was  any 
meaning  beyond  drunken  malice  in  what  he  said."  So  we 
find  that  three  people  had  passed  a  bad  night  in  consequence 
of  ]\Ir.  Firmin's  evil  behavior  of  five-and-twenty  years  back, 
which  surely  was  a  most  unreasonable  punishment  for  a  sin 
of  such  old  date.  I  wish,  dearly  beloved  brother  sinners, 
we  could  take  all  the  punishment  for  our  individual  crimes 
on  our  individual  shoulders :  but  we  drag  them  all  down 
with  us  —  that  is  the  fact;  and  when  Macheath  is 
condemned  to  hang,  it  is  Polly  and  Lucy  who  have  to  weep 
and  suffer  and  wear  piteous  mourning  in  their  hearts  long 
after  the  dare-devil  rogue  has  lumped  off  the  T^^burn 
ladder." 

"  Well,  sir,  he  did  not  say  a  Avord,"  said  Phil,  recount- 
ing the  meeting  to  his  friend ;  '^  not  a  word,  at  least  re gTird- 
ing  the  mattei-  both  of  ns  had  on  our  hearts.  But  about 
fashion,  parties,  politics,  he  discoursed  much  more  freely 
than  was  usual  with  him.  He  said  I  might  have  had  Lord 
Eingwood's  seat  for  Whipham  but  for  my  unfortunate 
politics.  What  made  a  radical  of  me,  he  asked,  who  was 
naturally  one  of  the  most  haughty  of  men  ?  —  and  that, 
I  think,  perhaps  I  am,"  says  Phil,  "  and  a  good  many  lib- 
eral fellows  are.     I   should  calm  down,  he  was   sure  —  I 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        261 

should  calm  down,  and  be  of  the  politics  des  homines  du 
inondeP 

Philip  could  not  say  to  his  father,  "  Sir,  it  is  seeing  you 
cringe  before  great  ones  that  has  set  my  own  back  up." 
There  were  countless  points  about  which  father  and  son 
could  not  speak ;  and  an  invisible,  unexpressed,  perfectly 
unintelligible  mistrust  always  was  present  when  those  two 
were  tete-a-tete. 

Their  meal  was  scarce  ended  when  entered  to  them  Mr. 
Hunt,  with  his  hat  on.  I  was  not  present  at  the  time,  and 
cannot  speak  as  a  certainty ;  but  I  should  think  at  his  omi- 
nous appearance  Philip  may  have  turned  red  and  his  father 
pale.  "  Xow  is  the  time,"  both,  I  dare  say,  thought ;  and 
the  doctor  remembered  his  stormy  young  daj'S  of  foreign 
gambling,  intrigue,  and  duel,  when  he  was  put  on  his  ground 
before  his  adversary,  and  bidden,  at  a  given  signal,  to  fire. 
One,  two,  three  !  Each  man's  hand  was  armed  with  malice 
and  murder.  Philip  had  plenty  of  pluck  for  his  part,  but  I 
should  think  on  such  an  occasion  might  be  a  little  nervous 
and  "fluttered,  whereas  his  father's  eye  was  keen,  and  his 
aim  rapid  and  steady. 

''You  and  Philip  had  a  difference  last  night,  Philip  tells 
me,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Yes,  and  I  promised  he  should  pay  me,"  said  the  clergy- 
man. 

"  And  I  said  I  should  desire  no  better,''  says  Mr.  Phil. 

"He  struck  his  senior,  his  father's  friend  —  a  sick  man,  a 
clergyman,"  gasped  Hunt. 

"  Were  j^ou  to  repeat  what  jom  did  last  night,  I  should 
repeat  what  I  did,"  said  Phil.  "You  insulted  a  good 
woman." 

"  It's  a  lie,  sir,"  cries  the  other. 

"  You  insulted  a  good  woman,  a  lady  in  her  own  house, 
and  I  turned  you  out  of  it,"  said  Phil. 

"  I  say  again,  it  is  a  lie,  sir ! "  screams  Hunt,  with  a 
stamp  on  the  table. 

"  That  you  should  give  me  the  lie,  or  otherwise,  is  per- 
fectly immaterial  to  me.  But  whenever  you  insult  Mrs. 
Brandon,  or  any  harmless  woman  in  my  presence,  I  shall  do 
my  best  to  chastise  yon,"  cries  Philip  of  the  red  moustaches, 
curling  them  with  much  dignity. 

"  You  hear  him,  Firmin  ?"  says  the  parson. 

"  Faith,  I  do,  Hunt !  "  says  the  physician  ;  "  and  I  tliink 
he  means  wliat  lie  says,  too." 


262  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

'•''  Oh  !  you  take  that  line,  do  you  ?  "  cries  Hunt  of  the 
dirty  hands,  the  dirty  teeth,  the  dirty  neckcloth. 

"  I  take  what  you  call  that  line  \  and  whenever  a  rude- 
ness is  otfered  to  that  admirable  woman  in  my  son's  hear- 
ing, I  shall  be  astonished  if  he  does  not  resent  it,"  says  the 
doctor.     "  Thank  you,  Philip  ! " 

The  father's  resolute  speech  and  behavior  gave  Philip 
great  momentary  comfort.  Hunt's  words  of  the  night  be- 
fore had  been  occupying  the  young  man's  thoughts.  Had 
Firmin  been  criminal,  he  could  not  be  so  bold. 

"  You  talk  this  way  in  presence  of  your  son  ?  You 
have  been  talking  over  the  matter  together  before  ?  "  asks 
Hunt. 

"We  have  been  talking  over  the  matter  before  —  yes. 
We  were  engaged  on  it  when  you  came  in  to  breakfast," 
says  the  doctor.  "  Shall  we  go  on  with  the  conversation 
where  we  left  it  off  ?  " 

"  Well,  do  —  that  is,  if  you  dare,"  said  the  clergyman, 
somewhat  astonished. 

"  Philip,  my  dear,  it  is  ill  for  a  man  to  hide  his  head  be- 
fore his  own  son ;  but  if  I  am  to  speak  —  and  speak  I  must 
one  day  or  the  other  —  why  not  now  ?  " 

"  Why  at  all,  Pirmin  ?  "  asks  the  clergyman,  astonished 
at  the  other's  rather  sudden  resolve. 

"  Why  ?  Because  I  am  sick  and  tired  of  you,  Mr,  Tufton 
Hunt,"  cries  the  physician,  in  his  most  lofty  manner,  "  of 
you  and  your  presence  in  my  h®use  ;  your  blackguard 
behavior  and  your  rascal  extortions  —  because  you  will  force 
me  to  speak  one  day  or  the  other  —  and  now,  Philip,  if  you 
like,  shall  be  the  day." 

'''  Hang  it,  I  say  !     Stop  a  bit !  "  cries  the  clergj-man. 

'•  I  understand  you  want  some  more  money  from  me." 

"  I  did  promise  Jacobs  I  Avould  pay  him  to-day,  and  that 
was  what  made  me  so  sulky  last  night ;  and,  perhaps,  I 
took  a  little  too  much.  You  see  my  mind  was  out  of  order  ; 
and  what's  the  use  of  telling  a  story  that  is  no  good  to  any 
one,  Firmin  —  least  of  all  to  you,"  cries  the  parson, 
darkly. 

"Because,  you  ruffian,  I'll  bear  with  you  no  more,"  cries 
the  doctor,  the  veins  of  his  forehead  swelling  as  he  looks 
fiercely  at  his  dirty  adversary.  "  In  the  last  nine  months, 
Philip,  this  man  has  had  nine  hundred  pounds  from  me." 

"  The  luck  has  been  so  very  bad,  so  bad,  upon  my  lionor, 
now,"  grumbles  the  parson. 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        263 

"  To-morrow  he  will  want  more  ;  and  the  next  day  more ; 
and  the  next  day  more ;  and,  in  tine,  I  won't  live  with  this 
accursed  man  of  the  sea  round  my  neck.  You  shall  have 
the  story  ;  and  jNIr.  Hunt  shall  sit  by  and  witness  against 
his  own  crime  and  mine.  I  had  been  very  wild  at  Cam- 
bridge, when  I  was  a  young  man.  I  had  quarrelled  with 
my  lather,  lived  with  a  dissipated  set,  and  be3'ond  my 
means ;  and  had  had  ni}^  debts  paid  so  often  by  your  grand- 
father, that  I  was  afraid  to  ask  for  more.  He  was  stern  to 
me  ;  I  was  not  dutiful  to  him.  I  own  my  fault.  Mr.  Hunt 
can  bear  witness  to  what  I  say. 

''  I  was  in  hiding  at  Margate,  under  a  false  name.  You 
know  the  name." 

''  Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  know  the  name,"  Philip  said,  think- 
ing he  liked  his  father  better  now  than  he  had  ever  liked 
him  in  his  life,  and  sighing,  "  Ah,  if  he  had  alwa^^s  been 
frank  and  true  with  me  !  " 

"  I  took  humble  lodgings  with  an  obscure  family."  [If 
Dr.  Firmin  had  a  prodigious  idea  of  his  own  grandeur  and 
importance,  you  see  I  cannot  help  it  —  and  he  was  long 
held  to  be  such  a  respectable  man.]  "  And  there  I  found  a 
young  girl  —  one  of  the  most  innocent  beings  that  ever  a 
man  played  with  and  betrayed.  Betrayed,  1  own  it,  heaven 
forgive  me  !  The  crime  has  been  the  shame  of  ni}^  life,  and 
darkened  my  whole  career  with  misery.  I  got  a  man  worse 
than  myself,  if  that  could  be.  I  got  Hunt,  for  a  few  pounds 
which  he  owed  me,  to  make  a  sham  marriage  between  me 
and  poor  Caroline.  jNIy  money  was  soon  gone.  My  cred- 
itors were  after  me.     I  fled  the  country,  and  I  left  her." 

''A  sham  marriage  !  a  sham  marriage  !  "  cries  the  clergy- 
man. "  Didn't  you  make  me  perform  it  by  holding  a  pistol 
to  my  throat  ?  A  fellow  won't  risk  transportation  for 
nothing.  But  I  owed  him  money  for  cards,  and  he  had  my 
bill,  and  he  said  he  would  let  me  off,  and  that's  why  I 
helped  him.  Xever  mind.  I  am  out  of  the  business  now, 
]\Er.  Brummell  Firmin,  and  you  are  in  it.  I  have  read  the 
Act,  sir.  The  clergyman  who  performs  the  marriage  is 
liable  to  punishment,  if  informed  against  within  three 
years,  and  it's  twenty  years  or  more.  But  you,  JMr.  Brum- 
mell Firmin  —  3'our  case  is  different;  and  you,  my  young 
gentleman,  with  the  fiery  whiskers,  who  strike  down  old 
men  of  a  night  —  you  may  find  some  of  us  know  how  to  re- 
venge ourselves,  though  we  are  down."  And  with  this, 
Hunt  rushed  to  his  greasy  hat,  and  quitted  the  house,  dis- 


264  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

chari,aiig  imprecations  at  his  hosts  as  he  passed  througlj 
the  halL 

Son  and  father  sat  awhile  silent,  after  the  departure  of 
their  common  enemy.     At  last  the  father  spoke. 

'•This  is  the  sword  that  lias  always  been  hanging  over  my 
head,  and  it  is  now  falling,  Pliilip." 

"  What  can  the  man  do  ?  Is  the  first  marriage  a  good 
marriage  ?  "  asked  Philip,  with  alarmed  face. 

"It  is  no  marriage.  It  is  void  to  all  intents  and  purposes. 
You  may  suppose  I  have  taken  care  to  learn  the  law  about 
that.  Your  legitimacy  is  safe,  sure  enough.  But  that  man 
can  ruin  me,  or  nearly  so.  He  will  try  to-morrow,  if  not 
to-day.  As  long  as  you  or  I  can  give  him  a  guinea,  he  will 
take  it  to  the  gambling-house.  I  had  the  mania  on  me  my- 
self once.  My  poor  father  quarrelled  with  me  in  conse- 
quence, and  died  without  seeing  me.  I  married  your  mother 
—  heaven  help  her,  poor  soul !  and  forgive  me  for  being 
but  a  harsh  husband  to  her  —  with  a  view  of  mending  my 
shattered  fortunes.  I  wished  she  had  been  more  happy, 
poor  thing.  But  do  not  blame  me  utterl}^,  Philip.  I  was 
desperate,  and  she  wished  for  the  marriage  so  much  !  I  had 
good  looks  and  high  spirits  in  those  days.  People  said  so." 
[And  here  he  glances  obliquely  at  his  own  handsome  por- 
trait.]    "Now  I  am  a  wreck,  a  wreck  ! " 

"  I  conceive,  sir,  that  this  will  annoy  you  ;  but  how  can 
it  ruin  you  ?  "  asked  Philip. 

"  What  becomes  of  my  practice  as  a  family  physician  ? 
The  practice  is  not  now  what  it  was,  between  ourselves, 
Philip  and  the  expenses  greater  than  you  imagine.  I  have 
made  unlucky  speculations.  If  you  count  of  much  increase 
of  wealth  from  me,  my  boy,  you  will  be  disappointed : 
though  you  were  never  mercenary,  no,  never.  But  the  story 
bruited  about  by  this  rascal,  of  a  physician  of  eminence  en- 
gaged in  two  marriages,  do  you  suppose  my  rivals  won't 
hear  it,  and  take  advantage  of  it  —  my  patients  hear  it,  and 
avoid  me  ?  " 

"  Make  terms  with  the  man  at  once,  then,  sir.  and  silence 
him." 

"To  make  terms  with  a  gambler  is  impossible.  My 
purse  is  always  there  open  for  him  to  thrust  his  hand  into 
when  he  loses.  No  man  can  withstand  such  a  temptation. 
I  am  glad  you  have  never  fallen  into  it.  I  have  quarrelled 
with  you  sometimes  for  living  with  people  below  your 
rank :  perhaps  you  were  right,   and  I  was  wrong.     I  have 


ox  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WOULD.        265 

liked,  always  did,  I  duirt  disguise  it,  to  live  witli  persons 
of  station.  And  these,  when  I  was  at  the  University, 
taught  me  play  and  extravagance  ;  and  in  the  Avorld  haven't 
helped  me  much.  Who  would  ?  AVho  would  ?  "  and  the 
doctor  relapsed  into  meditation. 

A  little  catastrophe  presently  occurred,  after  which  ^h\ 
Philip  Firmin  told  me  the  substance  of  this  story.  He 
described  his  father's  long  acquiescence  in  Hunt's  demands, 
and  sudden  resistance  to  them,  and  was  at  a  loss  to  account 
for  the  change.  I  did  not  tell  m}^  friend  in  express  terms, 
but  I  fancied  I  could  account  for  the  change  of  behavior. 
Dr.  Firmin,  in  his  interviews  with  Caroline,  had  had  his 
mind  set  at  rest  about  one  part  of  his  danger.  The  doctor 
need  no  longer  fear  the  charge  of  a  double  marriage.  The 
Little  Sister  resigned  her  claims,  past,  present,  future. 

If  a  gentleman  is  sentenced  to  be  hung,  I  wonder  is  it  a 
matter  of  comfort  to  him  or  not  to  know  beforehand  tlie 
day  of  the  operation  ?  Hunt  would  take  his  revenge. 
When  and  how  ?  Dr.  Firmin  asked  himself.  Xay,  possibh^, 
you  will  have  to  learn  that  this  eminent  practitioner  walked 
about  with  more  than  danger  hanging  imminent  over  him. 
Perhaps  it  was  a  rope :  perhaps  it  was  a  sword :  some 
weapon  of  execution,  at  any  rate,  as  we  frequenth^  may  see. 
A  day  passes :  no  assassin  darts  at  the  doctor  as  he  threads 
the  dim  opera-colonnade  passage  on  his  way  to  his  club.  A 
week  goes  by :  no  stiletto  is  plunged  into  his  well-wadded 
breast  as  he  steps  from  his  carriage  at  some  noble  patient's 
door.  Philip  says  he  never  knew  his  father  more  pleasant, 
easy,  good-humored,  and  affable  than  during  this  period 
when  he  must  have  felt  that  a  danger  was  hanging  over  him 
of  which  his  son  at  this  time  had  no  idea.  I  dined  in  Old 
Parr  Street  once  in  this  memorable  period  (memorable  it 
seemed  to  me  from  immediately  subsequent  ev^ents).  Never 
was  the  dinner  better  served :  the  wine  more  excellent :  the 
guests  and  conversation  more  gravely  respectable  than  at 
this  entertainment ;  and  my  neighbor  remarked  with  pleas- 
ure how  the  father  and  son  seemed  to  be  on  much  better 
terms  than  ordinary.  The  doctor  addressed  PhilijD  point- 
edl}^  once  or  twice ;  alluded  to  his  foreign  travels,  spoke  of 
his  mother's  family  —  it  was  most  gratifying  to  see  the  pair 
together.  Day  after  day  passes  so.  The  enemy  has  dis- 
appeared. At  least,  the  lining  of  his  dirty  hat  is  no  longer 
visible  on  the  broad  marble  table  of  Dr.  Firmin's  hall. 

But  one  day  —  it  may  be  ten  days  after  the  quarrel  —  a 


266  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

little  messenger  comes  to  Philip  and  says,  "  Philij^  dear,  I 
am  sure  there  is  something  wrong;  that  horrible  Hunt  has 
been  here  with  a  veiy  quiet,  soft-spoken  old  gentleman,  and 
they  have  been  going  on  with  my  poor  pa  about  my  wrongs 
and  his  —  his,  indeed  !  —  and  they  have  worked  him  up  to 
believe  that  somebody  has  cheated  his  daughter  out  of  a 
great  fortune  ;  and  who  can  that  somebody  be  but  your 
father  ?  And  whenever  they  see  me  coming,  papa  and  that 
horrid  Hunt  go  off  to  the  'Admiral  Byng' :  and  one  night 
when  papa  came  home  he  said,  '  Bless  you,  bless  you,  my 
poor,  innocent,  injured  child;  and  blessed  you  will  be, 
mark  a  fond  father's  words ! '  They  are  scheming  some- 
thing against  Philip  and  Philip's  father.  Mr.  Bond  the 
soft-spoken  old  gentleman's  name  is :  and  twice  there  has 
been  a  Mr.  Walls  to  inquire  if  Mr.  Hunt  was  at  our 
house." 

"Mr.  Bond?  — Mr.  Walls?  — A  gentleman  of  the  name 
of  Bond  was  uncle  Twysden's  attorney.  An  old  gentleman, 
with  a  bald  head,  and  one  eye  bigger  than  the  other  ?  " 

"  Well,  this  old  man  has  one  smaller  than  the  other,  I  do 
think,"  says  Caroline.  "First  man  who  came  v/as  Mr. 
Walls  —  a  rattling  j^oung  fashionable  chap,  always  laugh- 
ing, talking  about  theatres,  operas,  everything  —  came  home 
from  the  'Byng'  along  with  pa  and  his  new  friend  —  oh! 
I  do  hate  him,  that  man,  that  Hunt ! — theii  he  brought  the 
old  man,  this  Mr.  Bond.  What  are  they  scheming  against 
you,  Philip  ?  I  tell  you  this  matter  is  all  about  you  and 
your  father." 

Years  and  years  ago,  in  the  poor  mother's  lifetime,  Philip 
remembered  an  outbreak  of  wrath  on  his  father's  part,  who 
called  uncle  Twysden  a  swindling  miser,  and  this  very  Mr. 
Bond  a  scoundrel  who  deserved  to  be  hung  for  interfering 
in  some  way  in  the  management  of  a  part  of  the  property 
which  Mrs.  Twysden  and  her  sister  inherited  from  their 
own  mother.  That  quarrel  had  been  made  up,  as  such 
quarrels  are.  The  brothers-in-law  liad  continued  to  mis- 
trust each  other;  but  there  was  no  reason  why  the  feud 
should  descend  to  the  children;  and  Philip  and  his  aunt, 
and  one  of  her  daughters  at  least,  were  on  good  terms  to- 
gether. Philip's  uncle's  lawyers  engaged  with  his  father's 
debtor  and  enemy  against  Dr.  Firmin ;  the  alliance  boded 
no  good. 

"  I  won't  tell  you  what  I  think,  Philip,"  said  the  father. 
"  You  are  fond  of  your  cousin  ?  " 


ox  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        267 

"Oh!   forev— " 

"  Forever,  of  course  !  At  least  until  we  change  our  mind, 
or  one  of  us  grows  tired,  or  liuds  a  better  mate." 

"  Ah,  sir  !  "  cries  Philip,  but  suddenly  stops  in  his  remon- 
strance. 

"  What  were  you  going  to  say,  Philip,  and  why  do  you 
pause  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  father,  if  I  might  without  offending, 
that  I  think  you  judge  hardly  of  women.  I  know  two  who 
have  been  very  faithful  to  you." 

"  And  I  a  traitor  to  both  of  them.  Yes ;  and  my  re- 
morse, Philip,  my  remorse  !  "  says  his  father  in  his  deepest 
tragedy  voice,  clutching  his  hand  over  a  heart  that  I  believe 
beat  very  coolly.  But,  psha !  why  am  I,  Philip's  biogra- 
pher, going  out  of  the  way  to  abuse  Philip's  papa  ?  Is  not 
the  threat  of  bigamy  and  exposure  enough  to  disturb  any 
man's  equanimity  ?  I  say  again,  suppose  there  is  another 
sword  —  a  rope,  if  you  will  so  call  it  —  hanging  over  the 
head  of  our  Damocles  of  Old  Parr  Street  ?  .  .  .  How- 
beit,  the  father  and  the  son  met  and  parted  in  these  days 
with  unusual  gentleness  and  cordiality.  And  these  were 
the  last  days  in  which  they  were  to  meet  together.  Nor 
could  Philip  recall  without  satisfaction,  afterwards,  that  the 
hand  which  he  took  was  pressed  and  given  with  a  real  kind- 
ness and  cordiality. 

Wiiy  were  these  the  last  days  son  and  father  were  to  pass 
together  ?  Dr.  Firniin  is  still  alive.  Philip  is  a  very  toler- 
ably prosperous  gentleman.  He  and  his  father  parted  good 
friends,  and  it  is  the  biographer's  business  to  narrate  how 
and  wherefore.  When  Philip  told  his  father  that  Messrs. 
Bond  and  Selby,  his  uncle  Twysden's  attorneys,  were  sud- 
denly interested  about  ^Nlr.  Brandon  and  his  affairs,  the 
father  instantly  guessed,  though  the  son  was  too  simple  as 
yet  to  understand,  how  it  was  that  these  gentlemen  inter- 
fered. If  Mr.  Brandon-Pirmin's  marriage  with  Miss  Ping- 
wood  was  null,  her  son  was  illegitimate,  and  her  fortune 
went  to  her  sister.  Painful  as  such  a  duty  might  be  to  such 
tender-hearted  people  as  our  Twysden  acquaintances  to  de- 
prive a  dear  nephew  of  his  fortune,  yet,  after  all,  duty  is 
duty,  and  a  pare  at  must  sacrifice  everything  for  justice  and 
his  own  children.  "Had  I  been  in  such  a  case,"  Talbot 
Twysden  subsequently  and  repeatedly  declared,  "  I  should 
never  have  been  easy  a  moment  if  I  thought  I  possessed 
wrongfully  a  beloved  nephew's  property.     I  could  not  have 


268  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

slept  in  peace ;  I  could  not  have  shown  my  face  at  my  own 
club,  or  to  my  own  conscience,  had  I  the  weight  of  such  an 
injustice  on  my  mind."  In  a  word,  when  he  found  that 
there  was  a  chance  of  annexing  Philip's  share  of  the  prop- 
erty to  his  own,  Twysden  saw  clearly  that  his  duty  was  to 
stand  by  his  own  wife  and  children. 

The  information  upon  which  Talbot  Twysden,  Esq.,  acted 
was  brought  to  him  at  his  office  by  a  gentleman  in  dingy 
black,  who,  after  a  long  interview  with  him,  accompanied 
him  to  his  lawyer,  Mr.  Bond,  before  mentioned.  Here, 
in  South  Square,  Gray's  Inn,  the  three  gentlemen  held  a 
consultation,  of  which  the  results  began  quickly  to  show 
themselves.  Messrs.  Bond  and  Selby  had  an  exceedingly 
lively,  cheerful,  jovial,  and  intelligent  confidential  clerk, 
who  combined  business  and  pleasure  with  the  utmost  affa- 
bility, and  was  acquainted  with  a  thousand  queer  things, 
and  queer  histories  about  queer  people  in  this  town ;  who 
lent  money ;  who  wanted  money ;  who  was  in  debt ;  and 
who  was  outrunning  the  constable ;  whose  diamonds  were  in 
pawn ;  whose  estates  were  over-mortgaged ;  who  was  over- 
building himself;  who  was  casting  eyes  of  longing  at  what 
pretty  opera  dancer  —  about  races,  fights,  bill  brokers,  quic- 
quid  agunt  homines.  This  Tom  AValls  had  a  deal  of  infor- 
mation, and  imparted  it  so  as  to  make  you  die  of  laughing. 

The  Eeverencl  Tufton  Hunt  brought  this  jolly  fellow  first 
to  the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  where  his  amiability  won  all  hearts 
at  the  club.  At  the  "Byng"  it  w^as  not  very  difficult  to 
gain  Captain  Gann's  easy  confidence.  And  this  old  man 
was,  in  the  course  of  a  very  trifling  consumption  of  rum-and- 
water,  brought  to  see  that  his  daughter  had  been  the  object 
of  a  wicked  conspiracy,  and  was  the  rightful  and  most 
injured  wife  of  a  man  who  ought  to  declare  her  fair  fame 
before  the  world,  and  put  her  in  possession  of  a  portion  of 
his  great  fortune. 

A  great  fortune  ?  How  great  a  fortune  ?  Was  it  three 
hundred  thousand,  say  ?  Those  doctors,  many  of  them,  had 
fifteen  thousand  a  year.  Mr.  Walls  (who  perhaps  knew 
better)  was  not  at  liberty  to  say  what  the  fortune  was :  but 
it  was  a  shame  that  Mrs.  Brandon  was  kept  out  of  her  rights, 
that  was  clear. 

Old  Gann's  excitement,  when  this  matter  was  first 
broached  to  him  (under  vows  of  profound  secrecy)  was  so 
intense  that  his  old  reason  tottered  on  its  rickety  old  throne. 
He  well-nigh  burst  with  longing  to  speak  upon  this  mystery. 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        269 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Oves,  the  esteemed  landlord  and  lady  of  the 
"  Byng,"  never  saw  him  so  excited.  He  had  a  great  opinion 
of  the  judgment  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Ridley ;  in  fact,  he  must 
have  gone  to  Bedlam,  unless  he  had  talked  to  somebody  on 
this  most  nefarious  transaction,  which  might  make  the  blood 
of  every  Briton  curdle  with  horror  —  as  he  was  free  to  say. 

Old  Mr.  Ridley  was  of  a  much  cooler  temperament,  and 
altogether  a  more  cautious  person.  The  doctor  rich  ?  He 
wished  to  tell  no  secrets,  nor  to  meddle  in  no  gentleman's 
affairs  :  but  he  have  heard  very  different  statements  regard- 
ing Dr.  Firmin's  affairs. 

When  dark  hints  about  treason,  wicked  desertion,  rights 
denied,  "  and  a  great  fortune  which  you  are  kep'  out  of,  my 
poor  Caroline,  by  a  rascally  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing,  you 
are;  and  I  always  mistrusted  him  from  the  moment  I  saw 
him,  and  said  to  your  mother,  'Emily,  that  Brandon  is  a  bad 
fellow,  Brandon  is  ; '  and  bitterly,  bitterly  I've  rued  ever  re- 
ceiving him  under  my  roof."  When  speeches  of  this  nature 
were  made  to  Mrs.  Caroline,  strange  to  say,  the  little  lady 
made  light  of  them.  "  Oh,  nonsense.  Pa !  ,  Don't  be  bring- 
ing that  sad  old  story  up  again.  I  have  suffered  enough 
from  it  already.  If  Mr.  F.  left  me,  he  wasn't  the  only  one 
who  flung  me  away ;  and  I  have  been  able  to  live,  thank 
mercy,  through  it  all." 

This  was  a  hard  hit,  and  not  to  be  parried.  The  truth  is, 
that  when  poor  Caroline,  deserted  by  her  husband,  had  come 
back,  in  wretchedness,  to  her  father's  door,  the  man,  and 
the  wife  who  then  ruled  him,  had  thought  ht  to  thrust  her 
away.  And  she  had  forgiven  them  :  and  had  been  enabled 
to  heap  a  rare  quantity  of  coals  on  that  old  gentleman's 
head. 

When  the  Captain  remarked  his  daughter's  indifference 
and  unwillingness  to  reopen  this  painful  question  of  her 
sham  marriage  with  Firmin,  his  wrath  was  moved,  and  his 
suspicion  excited.  "  Ha  !  "  says  he,  "  have  this  man  been 
a-tampering  with  you  again  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,  Pa !  "  once  more  says  Caroline.  "  I  tell  3'ou, 
it  is  this  fine-talking  lawyers'  clerk  has  been  tampering  with 
you.  You're  made  a  tool  of,  Pa !  and  you've  been  made  a 
tool  of  all  your  life  !  " 

"  Well,  now,  upon  my  honor,  my  good  madam,"  interposes 
Mr.  Walls. 

"Don't  talk  to  me,  sir!  I  don't  want  any  lawyers'  clerks 
to  meddle  in  my  business  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Brandon^  very  briskly. 


270  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

"  I  don't  know  what  you're  come  about.  I  don't  want  to 
know,  and  I'm  most  certain  it  is  for  no  good." 

I  suppose  it  was  the  ill  success  of  his  ambassador  that 
brought  Mr.  Bond  himself  to  Thornhaugh  Street ;  and  a 
more  kind,  fatherly  little  man  never  looked  than  Mr.  Bond, 
although  he  may  have  had  one  eye  smaller  than  the  other. 
''  What  is  this,  my  dear  madam,  I  hear  from  my  confiden- 
tial clerk,  Mr.  Walls  ? "  he  asked  of  the  Little  Sister. 
"  You  refuse  to  give  him  your  confidence  because  he  is  only 
a  clerk  ?  I  wonder  whether  you  will  accord  it  to  me  as  a 
principal  ?  " 

"  She  may,  sir,  she  may  —  every  confidence  ! "  says  the 
Captain,  laying  his  hand  on  that  snuffy  satin  waistcoat 
which  all  his  friends  so  long  admired  on  him.  "  She  might 
have  spoken  to  Mr.  Walls." 

"  Mr.  Walls  is  not  a  family  man.  I  am.  I  have  children 
at  home,  Mrs.  Brandon,  as  old  as  you  are,"  says  the  benevo- 
lent Bond.  "I  would  have  justice  done  them,  and  for  you 
too." 

"  You're  very  good  to  take  so  much  trouble  about  me  all 
of  a  sudden,  to  be  sure,"  says  Mrs.  Brandon,  demurely.  "I 
suppose  you  don't  do  it  for  nothing." 

"  I  should  not  require  much  fee  to  help  a  good  woman  to 
her  rights;  and  a  lady  I  don't  think  needs  much  persuasion 
to  be  helped  to  her  advantage,"  remarks  Mr.  Bond. 

"  That  depends  who  the  helper  is." 

"  Well,  if  I  can  do  you  no  harm,  and  help  you  possibly  to 
a  name,  to  a  fortune,  to  a  high  place  in  the  world,  I  don't 
think  you  need  be  frightened.  I  don't  look  very  wicked  or 
very  artful,  do  I  ?  " 

"  Many  is  that  don't  look  so.  I've  learned  as  much  as  that 
about  you  gentlemen,"  remarks  Mrs.  Brandon. 

'•  You  have  been  wronged  by  one  man,  and  doubt  all." 

"Xot  alL     Some,  sir!" 

"Doubt  about  me  if  I  can  by  any  possibility  injure  you. 
But  how  and  why  should  I  ?  Your  good  father  knows 
Avhat  has  brought  me  here.  I  have  no  secret  from  him. 
Have  I,  Mr.  Gann,  or  Captain  Gaun,  as  I  have  heard  you 
addressed  ?  " 

"Mr.,  sir  —  plain  Mr.  —  No,  sir;  your  conduct  have  been 
most  open,  honorable,  and  like  a  gentleman.  Neither  would 
you,  sir,  do  aught  to  disparage  Mrs.  Brandon;  neither  would 
I,  her  father.  ^S'o  ways,  I  think,  would  a  parent  do  harm 
to  his  own  child.     May  I  offer  you  any  refreshment,  sir  ?  " 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        271 

And  a  shaky,  a  dingy,  but  a  hospitable  hand  is  laid  upon  the 
glossy  cupboard,  in  which  Mrs.  Brandon  keeps  her  modest 
little  store  of  strong  waters. 

"■  Xot  one  drop,  thank  you  !  Yoi\  trust  me,  I  think,  more 
than  Mrs.  Firm — I  beg  your  pardon — Mrs.  Brandon,  is 
disposed  to  do." 

At  the  utterance  of  that  monosyllable  Firm,  Caroline 
became  so  white,  and  trembled  so,  that  her  interlocutor 
stopped,  rather  alarmed  at  the  elfect  of  his  word  —  his 
word !  —  his  syllable  of  a  word. 

The  old  lawyei  recovered  himself  with  much  grace. 

"Pardon  me,  madam,"'  he  said;  "I  know  your  wrongs;  I 
know  your  most  melancholy  history ;  I  know  j^our  name, 
and  was  going  to  use  it,  but  it  seemed  to  renew  pain- 
ful recollections  to  you,  which  I  would  not  needlessly 
recall." 

Captain  Gann  took  out  a  snuffy  pocket-handkerchief, 
wiped  two  red  eyes  and  a  shirt-front,  and  winked  at  the 
attorney,  and  gasped  in  a  pathetic  manner. 

'•'  You  know  my  story  and  name,  sir,  who  are  a  stranger  to 
me.  Have  you  told  this  old  gentleman  all  about  me  and  my 
affairs,  Pa  ?  "  asks  Caroline,  with  some  asperity.  "'  Have 
3^ou  told  him  that  my  ma  never  gave  me  a  word  of  kindness 
—  that  I  toiled  for  you  and  her  like  a  servant  —  and  when  I 
came  back  to  you,  after  being  deceived  and  deserted,  that 
you  and  ma  shut  the  door  in  my  face  ?  You  did  !  you  did  ! 
I  forgive  you  ;  but  a  hundred  thousand  billion  years  can't 
mend  that  injury,  father,  while  you  broke  a  poor  child's 
heart  Avith  it  that  day  !  My  pa  has  told  you  all  this,  j\[r. 
AVhat's-your-name  ?  I'm  s'prised  he  didn't  find  something 
pleasanter  to  talk  about,  I'm  sure  ! " 

'•'  My  love  !  "  interposed  the  Captain. 

"  Prett}^  love  !  to  go  and  tell  a  stranger  in  a  public-house, 
and  ever  so  many  there  besides,  I  suppose,  your  daughter's 
misfortunes,  pa.  Pretty  love  !  That's  what  I've  had  from 
you ! " 

"  ISTot  a  soul,  on  the  honor  of  a  gentleman,  except  me  and 
Mr.  Walls."  . 

"  Then  what  do  you  come  to  talk  about  me  at  all  for  ? 
and  what  scheme  on  hearth  are  you  driving  at  ?  and  what 
brings  this  old  man  here  ?  "  cries  the  landlady  of  Thorn- 
haugh  Street,  stamping  her  foot. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  frankly,  my  good  lady  ?  I  called  you 
Mrs.  Firmin  now,  because,  on  my  honor  and  word,  I  believe 


272  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

such  to  be  your  rightful  name  —  because  you  are  the  lawful 
wife  of  George  Brand  Firmin.  If  such  be  your  lawful 
name,  others  bear  it  who  have  no  right  to  bear  it  —  and  in- 
herit property  to  which  they  can  lay  no  just  claim.  In  the 
year  1827,  you,  Caroline  Gaun,  a  child  of  sixteen,  w^ere 
married  by  a  clergyman  whom  you  know,  to  George  Brand 
Firmin,  calling  himself  George  Brandon.  He  was  guilty  of 
deceiving  you;  but  you  were  guilty  of  no  deceit.  He  was  a 
hardened  and  wily  man ;  but  you  were  an  innocent  child  out 
of  a  schoobroom.  And  though  he  thought  the  marriage 
was  not  binding  upon  him,  binding  it  is  by  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment and  judges'  decision  ;  and  you  are  as  assuredly  George 
Firmin's  wife,  madam,  as  Mrs.  Bond  is  mine  ! " 

"  You  have  been  cruelly  injured,  Caroline,"  says  the  Cap- 
tain, wagging  his  old  nose  over  his  handkerchief. 

Caroline  seemed  to  be  very  well  versed  in  the  law  of  the 
transaction.  '-  You  mean,  sir,"  she  said  slowly,  "  that  if  me 
and  Mr.  Brandon  was  married  to  each  other,  he  knowing 
that  he  was  only  playing  at  marriage,  and  me  believing  that 
it  was  all  for  good,  we  are  really  married." 

"  Undoubtedly  you  are,  madam  —  my  client  has  —  that  is, 
I  have  had  advice  on  the  point." 

"But  if  we  both  knew  that  it  was  —  was  only  a  sort  of  a 
marriage  —  an  irregular  marriage,  you  know  ?  " 

"  Then  the  Act  sa3's  that  to  all  intents  and  purposes  tlie 
marriage  is  null  and  void." 

"  But  you  didn't  know,  my  poor  innocent  child ! "  cries 
Mr.  Gann.  "How  should  you?  How  old  was  you?  She 
was  a  child  in  the  nursery,  Mr.  Bond,  when  the  villain 
inveigled  her  away  from  her  poor  old  father.  She  knew 
nothing  of  irregular  marriages." 

"  Of  course  she  didn't,  the  poor  creature,"  cries  the  old 
gentleman,  rubbing  his  hands  together  with  perfect  good- 
humor.     "Poor  young  thing,  poor  young  thing ! " 

As  he  was  speaking,  Caroline,  very  pale  and  still,  was 
sitting  looking  at  Kidley's  sketch  of  Philip,  which  hung  in 
her  little  room.  Presently  she  turned  round  on  the  attorney, 
folding  her  little  hands  over  her  work. 

"Mr.  Bond,"  she  said,  "girls,  though  they  may  be  ever  so 
young,  know  more  than  some  folks  fancy.  I  was  more  than 
sixteen  when  that  —  that  business  happened.  I  wasn't 
happy  at  home,  and  eager  to  get  away.  I  knew  that  a  gen- 
tleman  of  his  rank  wouldn't  be  likely  realh^  to  marry  a  poor 
Cinderella  out  of  a  lodging-house,  like  me.     If  the  truth 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE  (WORLD.        273 

must  be  told,  I  —  I  knew  it  was  no  marriage -L-  never tihouglit 
it- was  a  marriage  —  not  for  good,  you  knoAviAs-^      v     "^V 

And  she  folds  lier  little  hands  together  al^ke^n^te^tiie.")  w 
words,  and  I  dare  say  once  more  looks  at  Phil^s  jdortrait'^  •  ^^ 

'•  Gracious  goodness,  madam,  jou  must  be  tir^er  some 
error  I  "  cries  the  attorney.  "  How  should  a  child  li4ie^you 
know  that  the  marriage  was  irregular  ?  "  '■:>?-;_— ^-^ 

"  Because  I  had  no  lines  ! "  cries  Caroline  quickly. 
"  Never  asked  for  none  !  And  our  maid  we  had  then  said 
to  me,  '  Miss  Carry,  where's  your  lines  ?  And  it's  no  good 
without.'  And  I  knew  it  wasn't !  And  I'm  ready  to  go 
before  the  Lord  Chancellor  to-morrow  and  say  so ! "  cries 
Caroline,  to  the  bewilderment  of  her  father  and  her  cross- 
examinant. 

''  Pause,  pause !  my  good  madam ! "  exclaims  the  meek 
old  gentleman,  rising  from  his  chair. 

"  Go  and  tell  this  to  them  as  sent  you,  sir  !  "  cries  Caro- 
line, ver}^  imperiously,  leaving  the  lawyer  amazed,  and  her 
father's  face  in  a  bewilderment,  over  which  we  will  :fling 
his  snuffy  old  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  If  such  is  unfortunately  the  case  —  if  j^ou  actually  mean 
to  abide  by  this  astonishing  confession  —  whicli  deprives 
you  of  a  high  place  in  society  —  and  —  and  casts  down  the 
hope  we  had  formed  of  redressing  your  injured  reputation 
—  I  have  nothing  for  it !  I  take  my  leave,  madam  !  Good 
morning,  Mr.  Hum  I  —  Mr.  Gann  1 "  And  the  old  lawyer 
walks  out  of  the  Little  Sister's  room. 

"  She  won't  own  to  the  marriage  !  She  is  fond  of  some 
one  else  —  the  little  suicide  !"  thinks  the  old  lawyer,  as  he 
clatters  down  the  street  to  a  neighboring  house,  where  his 
anxious  principal  was  in  waiting.  "  She's  fond  of  some  one 
else : " 

Yes.  But  the  some  one  else  whom  Caroline  loved  was 
Brand  Firmin's  son :  and  it  was  to  save  Philip  from  ruin 
that  the  poor  Little  Sister  chose  to  forget  her  marriaoe  to 
his  father. 


VOL.  I.  —  le 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


HILST  tlie  battle  is  raging, 
the  old  folks  and  ladies 
peep  over  the  battlements, 
to  watch  the  turns  of  the 
combat,  and  the  behavior 
of  the  knights.  To  prin- 
cesses in  old  days,  whose 
lovely  hands  were  to  be  be- 
stowed upon  the  conqueror, 
it  must  have  been  a  matter 
of  no  small  interest  to 
know  whether  the  slim 
young  champion  with  the 
lovely  eyes,  on  the  milk- 
white  steed,  should  van- 
quish, or  the  dumpy, 
elderly,  square-shouldered, 
squinting,  carroty  whisker- 
ando  of  a  warrior  who  was 
laying  about  him  so  savagely ;  and  so  in  this  battle,  on  the 
issue  of  which  depended  the  keeping  or  losing  of  poor 
Philip's,  inheritance,  there  were  several  non-combatants 
deeply  interested.  Or  suppose  we  withdraw  the  chival- 
rous simile  (as  in  fact  the  conduct  and  views  of  certain 
parties  engaged  in  the  matter  were  anything  but  what  we 
call  chivalrous),  and  imagine  a  wily  old  monkey  who 
engages  a  cat  to  take  certain  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire,  and 
pussy  putting  her  paw  through  the  bars,  seizing  the  nut 
and  then  dropping  it  ?  Jacko  is  disappointed  and  angry, 
sliows  his  sharp  teeth,  and  bites  if  he  dares.  When  the 
attorney  went  down  to  do  battle  for  Philip's  patrimony, 
some  of  those  who  wanted  it  were  spectators  of  the  light, 
and  lurking  up  a  tree  hard  by.  When  Mr.  Piond  came 
forward  to  try  and  seize  Phil's  che&tnuts,  there  was  a  wily 

274 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP.  275 

old  monkey  who  thrust  the  cat's  paw  out;  and  proposed  to 
gobble  up  the  smoking  prize. 

If  you  have  ever  been  at  the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  you  know, 
my  dear  madam,  that  the  parlor  where  the  club  meets  is 
just  behind  Mrs.  Oves's  bar,  so  that  by  lifting  up  the  sash 
of  the  window  which  communicates  between  the  two  apart- 
ments, that  good-natured  woman  may  put  her  face  into  the 
club-room,  and  actually  be  one  of  the  society.  Sometimes 
for  company,  old  Mr.  Ridley  goes  and  sits  with  Mrs.  0.  in 
her  bar,  and  reads  the  paper  there.  He  is  slow  at  his  read- 
ing. The  long  words  puzzle  the  worthy  gentleman.  As 
lie  has  plenty  of  time  to  spare,  he  does  not  grudge  it  to  the 
study  of  his  paper. 

On  the  day  when  Mr.  Bond  went  to  persuade  Mrs.  Bran- 
don in  Thornhaugh  Street  to  claim  Dr.  Firmin  for  her 
husband,  and  to  disinherit  poor  Philip,  a  little  gentleman 
wrapt  most  solemnly  and  mysteriously  in  a  great  cloak 
appeared  at  the  bar  of  the  "Admiral  Byng,"  and  said  in  an 
aristocratic  manner,  "You  have  a  parlor,  show  me  to  it." 
And  being  introduced  to  the  parlor  (where  there  are  fine 
pictures  of  Oves,  Mrs.  0.,  and  "  Spotty-Kose,"  their 
favorite  defunct  bull-dog),  sat  down  and  called  for  a  glass 
of  sherry  and  a  newspaper. 

The  civil  and  intelligent  pot-boy  of  the  "Byng  "  took  the 
party  The  Advertise?^  of  yesterday  (which  to-day's  paper 
was  in  'and),  and  when  the  gentleman  began  to  swear  over 
the  old  paper,  Frederick  gave  it  as  his  opinion  to  his 
mistress  that  the  new-comer  was  a  harbitrary  gent,  —  as, 
indeed,  he  was,  with  the  omission,  perhaps,  of  a  single 
letter  ;  a  man  who  bullied  ev^erybody  who  would  submit  to 
be  bullied.  In  fact,  it  was  our  friend  Talbot  Twysden, 
Esq.,  Commissioner  of  the  Powder  and  Pomatum  Office ; 
and  I  leave  those  who  know  him  to  say  whether  he  is 
arbitrary  or  not. 

To  him  presently  came  that  bland  old  gentleman,  Mr. 
Bond,  who  also  asked  for  a  parlor  and  some  sherry-and- 
water ;  and  this  is  how  Philip  and  his  veracious  and  astute 
biographer  came  to  know  for  a  certainty  that  dear  uncle 
Talbot  was  the  person  who  wished  to  —  to  have  Philip's 
chestnuts. 

j\rr.  Bond  and  Mr.  Twysden  had  been  scarcel}'  a  minute 
together  when  such  a  storm  of  imprecations  came  clatter- 
ing through  the  glass-window  which  communicates  with 
Mrs.  Oves's  bar  that  I  dare  say  they  made  the  jugs  and 


276  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

tumblers  clatter  on  the  shelves,  and  Mr.  Ridley,  a  very 
modest-spoken  man,  reading  his  paper,  lay  it  down  with  a 
scared  face,  and  say  —  "Well,  I  never."  Nor  did  he  often, 
I  dare  to  say. 

This  volley  was  fired  by  Talbot  Twysden,  in  consequence 
of  his  rage  at  the  news  which  Mr.  Bond  brought  him. 

"Well,  Mr.  Bond;  well,  Mr.  Bond!  What  does  she 
say  ?  "  he  asked  of  his  emissarj^ 

"She  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  business,  Mr. 
Twysden.  We  can't  touch  it ;  and  I  don't  see  how  we  can 
move  her.  She  denies  the  marriage  as  much  as  Firmin 
does :  says  she  knew  it  was  a  mere  sham  when  the  cere- 
mony was  performed." 

"  Sir,  you  didn't  bribe  her  enough,"  shrieked  Mr.  Twys- 
den. "  You  have  bungled  this  business ;  by  G-eorge,  you 
have,  sir." 

"  Go  and  do  it  yourself,  sir,  if  you  are  not  ashamed  to 
appear  in  it,"  says  the  lawyer.  "  You  don't  suppose  I  did 
it  because  I  liked  it:  or  want  to  take  that  poor  young 
fellow's  inheritance  from  him,  as  you  do." 

"  I  wish  justice  and  the  law,  sir.  If  I  were  wrongfully 
detaining  his  property  I  would  give  it  up.  I  would  be  the 
first  to  give  it  up.  I  desire  justice  and  law,  and  employ 
you  because  you  are  a  law  agent.     Are  you  not  ?  " 

"  And  I  have  been  on  your  errand,  and  shall  send  in  my 
bill  in  due  time ;  and  there  will  be  an  end  of  my  connec- 
tion with  you  as  your  law  agent,  Mr.  Twysden,"  cried  the 
old  lawyer. 

"  You  know,  sir,  how  badly  Firmin  acted  to  me  in  the 
last  matter." 

"Faith,  sir,  if  you  ask  my  opinion  as  a  law  agent,  I  don't 
think  there  was  much  to  choose  between  you.  How  much 
is  the  sherry-and- water  ?  —  keep  the  change.  Sorry  I'd  no 
better  news  to  bring  you,  Mr.  T.,  and  as  you  are  dissatis- 
fied, again  recommend  you  to  employ  another  law  agent." 

"  My  good  sir,  I  —  " 

"My  good  sir,  I  have  had  other  dealings  with  your 
family,  and  am  no  more  going  to  put  up  with  your  highti- 
tightiness  than  I  would  with  Lord  Kingwood's  when  I  was 
one  of  his  law  agents.  I  am  not  going  to  tell  Mr.  Philip 
Firmin  that  his  uncle  and  aimt  propose  to  ease  him  of  his 
property  ;  but  if  anybody  else  does  —  that  good  little  Mrs. 
Brandon  —  or  that  old  goose  Mr.  What-d'3'e-call-um,  her 
father  —  I  don't  suppose  he  will  be  over  well  pleased.     I 


ox  HIS    WA  Y  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        277 

am  speaking  as  a  gentleman  now,  not  as  a  law  agent.  You 
and  your  nepliew  had  each  a  half-share  of  Mr.  Philip 
Firmin's  grandfather's  joroperty,  and  you  wanted  it  all, 
that's  the  truth,  and  set  a  law  agent  to  get  it  for  you ;  and 
swore  at  him  because  he  could  not  get  it  from  its  right 
owner.  And  so,  sir,  I  wish  you  a  good  -  morning,  and 
recommend  you  to  take  your  papers  to  some  other  agent, 
j\Ir.  Twysden."  And  with  this,  exit  Mr.  Bond.  And  now, 
I  ask  you,  if  that  secret  could  be  kept  which  was  known 
through  a  trembling  glass-door  to  Mrs.  Oves  of  the  "Ad- 
miral Byng,"  and  to  j\Ir.  Ridley  the  father  of  J.  J.,  and  the 
obsequious  husband  of  Mrs.  Kidley  ?  On  that  very  after- 
noon, at  tea-time,  Mrs.  Ridley  Avas  made  acquainted  by  her 
husband  (in  his  noble  and  circumlocutory  manner)  with  the 
conversation  which  he  had  overheard.  It  was  agreed  that 
an  embassy  should  be  sent  to  J.  J.  on  the  business,  and  his 
advice  taken  regarding  it ;  and  J.  J.'s  opinion  was  that  the 
conversation  certainly  should  be  reported  to  Mr.  Philip 
Firmin,  who  might  afterwards  act  upon  it  as  he  should 
think  best. 

What  ?  His  own  aunt,  cousins,  and  uncle  agreed  in  a 
scheme  to  overthrow  his  legitimacy,  and  deprive  him  of  his 
grandfather's  inheritance  ?  It  seemed  impossible.  Big 
with  the  tremendous  news,  Philip  came  to  his  adviser,  Mr. 
Pendennis,  of  the  Temple,  and  told  him  what  had  occurred 
on  the  part  of  father,  uncle,  and  Little  Sister.  Her  abne- 
gation had  been  so  noble  that  you  may  be  sure  Philip 
appreciated  it ;  and  a  tie  of  friendship  was  formed  between 
the  young  man  and  the  little  lady  even  more  close  and 
tender  than  that  wliich  had  bound  them  previously.  But 
the  Twysdens,  his  kinsfolk,  to  employ  a  law3^er  in  order  to 
rob  him  of  his  inheritance  !  —  Oh,  it  was  dastardly  !  Philip 
bawled,  and  stamped,  and  thumped  his  sense  of  the  wrong 
in  his  usual  energetic  manner.  As  for  his  cousin  Ring- 
wood  Twysden,  Phil  had  often  entertained  a  strong  desire 
to  wring  his  neck  and  pitch  him  downstairs.  "As  for 
Uncle  Talbot :  that  he  is  an  old  pump,  that  he  is  a  pompous 
old  humVnig,  and  the  queerest  old  sycophant,  I  grant  you ; 
but  I  couldn't  have  believed  him  guilty  of  this.  And  as 
for  the  girls — oh,  Mrs.  Pendennis,  you  who  are  good,  you 
who  are  kind,  although  you  hate  tliem,  I  know  you  do  — 
you  can't  say,  you  won't  say,  that  they  Avere  in  the  con- 
spiracy ?  " 

"But  suppose  Twysden  was  asking  only  for  what  he  con- 


278  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

ceives  to  be  his  rights  ? "  asked  Mr.  Pendennis.  "  Had 
your  father  been  married  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  you  woukl  not 
have  been  Dr.  Firmin's  legitimate  son.  Had  you  not  been 
his  legitimate  son,  you  had  no  right  to  a  half-share  of  your 
grandfather's  j^roperty.  Uncle  Talbot  acts  only  the  part 
of  honor  and  justice  in  the  transaction.  He  is  Brutus,  and 
lie  orders  you  off  to  death,  with  a  bleeding  heart." 

''  And  he  orders  his  family  out  of  the  way,"  roars  Phil, 
"  so  that  they  mayn't  be  pained  by  seeing  the  execution ! 
I  see  it  all  now.  I  wish  somebody  Avould  send  a  knife 
through  me  at  once,  and  put  an  end  to  me.  I  see  it  all 
now.  Do  you  know  that  for  the  last  week  I  have  been  to 
Beaunash  Street,  and  found  nobody  ?  Agnes  had  the  bron- 
chitis, and  her  mother  was  attending  to  her ;  Blanche  came 
for  a  minute  or  two,  and  was  as  cool  —  as  cool  as  I  have 
seen  Lady  Iceberg  be  cool  to  her.  Then  they  must  go 
away  for  change  of  air.  They  have  been  gone  these  three 
days :  whilst  Uncle  Talbot  and  that  viper  of  a  Eingwood 
have  been  closeted  with  their  nice  new  friend,  ^Ir.  Hunt. 
Oh,  conf — !  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am  ;  but  I  know  you 
always  allow  for  the  energy  of  my  language." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  that  Little  Sister,  Mr.  Firmin. 
She  has  not  been  selfish,  or  had  any  scheme  but  for  your 
good,"  remarks  my  wife. 

"  A  little  angel  who  drops  her  h'^  —  a  little  heart,  so 
good  and  tender  that  I  melt  as  I  think  of  it,"  says  Philip, 
drawing  his  big  hand  over  his  eyes.  "What  have  men 
done  to  get  the  love  of  some  women  ?  We  don't  earn  it ; 
we  don't  deserve  it,  perhaps.  We  don't  return  it.  They 
bestow  it  on  us.  I  have  given  nothing  back  for  all  this 
love  and  kindness,  but  I  look  a  little  like  my  father  of  old 
days,  for  whom  —  for  whom  she  had  an  attachment.  And 
see  now  how  she  would  die  to  serve  me  !  You  are  wonder- 
ful, women  are !  your  fidelities  and  your  ficklenesses  alike 
marvellous.  What  can  any  woman  have  found  to  adore  in 
the  doctor  ?  Do  you  think  my  father  could  ever  have  been 
adorable,  Mrs.  Pendennis  ?  And  yet  I  have  heard  my  poor 
mother  say  she  Avas  obliged  to  marry  him.  She  knew  it 
was  a  bad  match,  but  she  couldn't  resist  it.  In  Avliat  was 
my  father  so  irresistible  ?  He  is  not  to  my  taste.  Be- 
tween ourselves,  I  tliink  he  is  a — well,  never  mind 
what." 

"I  think  we  had  best  not  mind  what?"  says  my  wife 
with  a  smile. 


Oy  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        270 

"  Quite  right  —  quite  right ;  only  I  blurt  out  everything 
that  is  on  my  mind.  Can't  keep  it  in,"  cries  Phil,  gnawing 
his  mustachios.  "  If  my  fortune  depended  on  my  silence 
I  should  be  a  beggar,  that's  the  fact.  And,  you  see,  if  you 
had  such  a  father  as  mine,  you  yoiirself  would  find  it 
rather  difficult  to  hold  your  tongue  about  him.  But  now, 
tell  me  :  this  ordering  away  of  the  girls  and  Aunt  Twys- 
den,  whilst  the  little  attack  upon  my  property  is  being  car- 
ried on  —  isn't  it  queer  ?  " 

"  The  question  is  at  an  end,"  said  Mr.  Pendennis.  "  You 
are  restored  to  your  atavls  reglbus  and  ancestral  honors. 
Now  that  Uncle  Twysden  can't  get  the  property  without 
you,  have  courage,  my  boy  —  he  may  take  it,  along  with 
the  encumbrance." 

Poor  Phil  had  not  known  —  but  some  of  us,  Avho  are 
pretty  clear-sighted  when  our  noble  selv^es  are  not  con- 
cerned, had  perceived  that  Philip's  dear  aunt  was  playing 
fast  and  loose  with  the  lad,  and  when  his  back  was  turned 
was  encouraging  a  richer  suitor  for  her  daughter. 

Hand  on  heart  I  can  say  of  my  wife,  that  she  meddles 
with  her  neighbors  as  little  as  any  person  I  ever  knew; 
but  when  treacheries  in  love-aft'airs  are  in  question,  she 
fires  up  at  once,  and  would  persecute  to  death  almost  the 
heartless  male  or  female  criminal  who  would  break  love's 
sacred  laws.  The  idea  of  a  man  or  woman  trifling  with 
that  holy  compact  awakens  in  her  a  flame  of  indignation. 
In  curtain  confidences  (of  which  let  me  not  vulgarize  the 
arcana)  she  had  given  me  her  mind  about  some  of  ^Miss 
Twysden's  behavior  with  that  odious  blackamoor,  as  she 
chose  to  call  Captain  Woolcomb,  who,  I  own,  had  a  very 
slight  tinge  of  complexion ;  and  when,  quoting  the  words 
of  Hamlet  regarding  his  father  and  mother,  I  asked, 
"  Could  she  on  this  fair  mountain  leave  to  feed,  and  batten 
on  tliis  Moor  ?  "  ^Irs.  Pendennis  cried  out  that  this  matter 
was  all  too  serious  for  jest,  and  wondered  how  her  husband 
could  make  word  plays  about  it.  Perhaps  she  has  not  the 
exquisite  sense  of  humor  possessed  by  some  folks ;  or  is 
it  that  she  has  more  reverence  ?  In  her  creed,  if  not  in 
her  church,  marriage  is  a  sacrament,  and  the  fond  believer 
never  speaks  of  it  without  awe. 

Now,  as  she  expects  both  parties  to  the  marriage  engage- 
ment to  keep  that  compact  holy,  she  no  more  under- 
stands trifling  with  it  than  she  could  comprehend  laughing 
and  joking  in  a  churcdi.     She  has  no  patience  with  flirta- 


280  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

tions,  as  they  are  called.  "Don't  tell  me,  sir,"  says  the 
enthusiast,  "a  light  word  between  a  man  and  a  married 
woman  ought  not  to  be  permitted."  And  this  is  why  she 
is  harder  on  the  woman  than  the  man,  in  cases  where  such 
dismal  matters  happen  to  fall  under  discussion.  A  look,  a 
word  from  a  woman,  she  says,  will  check  a  libertine 
thought  or  word  in  a  man;  and  these  cases  might  be 
stopped  at  once  if  the  woman  but  showed  the  slightest  res- 
olution. She  is  thus  more  angry  (I  am  only  mentioning 
the  peculiarities,  not  defending  the  ethics  of  this  indi- 
vidual moralist)  —  she  is,  I  say,  more  angrily  disposed  tow- 
ards the  woman  than  the  man  in  such  delicate  cases  ;  and, 
I  am  afraid,  considers  that  women  are  for  the  most  part 
only  victims  because  they  choose  to  be  so. 

Now,  we  had  happened  during  this  season  to  be  at  sev- 
eral entertainments,  routs,  and  so  forth,  where  poor  Phil, 
owing  to  his  unhappy  Bohemian  preferences  and  love  of 
tobacco,  &c.,  was  not  present  —  and  where  we  saw  Miss 
Agnes  Twysden  carrying  on  sucli  a  game  with  the  tawny 
Woolcomb  as  set  Mrs.  Laura  in  a  tremor  of  indignation. 
What  though  Agnes's  blue-eyed  mamma  sat  near  her  blue- 
eyed  daughter  and  kept  her  keen  clear  orbs  perfectly  wide 
open  and  cognizant  of  all  that  happened  ?  So  much  the 
worse  for  her,  the  worse  for  both.  It  was  a  shame  and  a 
sin  that  a  Christian  English  mother  should  suffer  her 
daughter  to  deal  lightly  with  the  most  holy,  the  most 
awful  of  human  contracts ;  should  be  preparing  her  child 
who  knows  for  what  after  misery  of  mind  and  soul.  Three 
months  ago,  you  saw  how  she  encouraged  poor  Philip,  and 
now  see  her  with  this  mulatto  ! 

"  Is  he  not  a  man,  and  a  brother,  my  dear  ?  "  perhaps  at 
this  Mr.  Pendennis  interposes. 

"Oh,  for  shame,  Pen,  no  levity  on  this  —  no  sneers  and 
laughter  on  this  the  most  sacred  subject  of  all."  And  here, 
I  dare  say  the  woman  falls  to  caressing  her  own  children 
and  huggiug  them  to  her  heart  as  her  manner  was  when 
moved.  Que  voulez-vous  ?  Tliere  are  some  women  in  the 
world  to  whom  love  and  truth  are  all  in  all  here  below. 
Other  ladies  there  are  who  see  the  benefit  of  a  good  joint- 
ure, a  town  and  country  house,  and  so  forth,  and  who  are 
not  so  very  particular  as  to  the  character,  intellect,  or 
complexion  of  gentlemen  who  are  in  a  position  to  offer 
their  dear  girls  these  benefits.  In  hue,  I  say,  that  re- 
garding  this    blue-eyed  mother  and  daughter,  Mrs.  Laur.-j 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.        281 

Pendennis  was  in  such  a  state  of  mind  that  she  was  ready 
to  tear  their  blue  eyes  out. 

Xa}',  it  was  with  no  little  difficult}^  that  Mrs.  Laura 
could  be  induced  to  hold  her  tongue  upon  the  matter  and 
not  give  Philip  her  opinion.  "  What  ?  "  she  would  ask,  "  the 
poor  young  man  is  to  be  deceived  and  cajoled ;  to  be  taken 
or  left  as  it  suits  these  people ;  to  be  made  miserable  for 
life  certainly  if  she  marries  him ;  and  his  friends  are  not 
to  dare  to  warn  him  ?  The  cowards  !  The  cowardice  of 
you  men,  Pen,  upon  matters  of  opinion,  of  you  masters 
and  lords  of  creation,  is  really  despicable,  sir !  You  dare 
not  have  opinions,  or  holding  them  you  dare  not  declare 
them  and  act  by  them.  You  compromise  with  crime  every 
day  because  you  think  it  would  be  officious  to  declare  your- 
self and  interfere.  You  are  not  afraid  of  outraging  morals, 
but  of  inflicting  eiiiiui  upon  society,  and  losing  your  popu- 
larity. You  are  as  C3'nical  as  —  as,  what  was  the  name  of 
the  horrid  old  man  who  lived  in  the  tub  —  Demosthenes  ? 
—  well,  Diogenes,  then,  and  the  name  does  not  matter  a 
pin,  sir.  You  are  as  cynical,  only  you  wear  fine  ruffled 
shirts  and  wristbands,  and  you  carry  your  lantern  dark. 
It  is  not  right  to  'put  your  oar  in,'  as  you  say  in  your 
jargon  (and  even  your  slang  is  a  sort  of  cowardice,  sir,  for 
you  are  afraid  to  speak  the  feelings  of  your  heart)  —  it  is 
not  right  to  meddle  and  speak  the  truth,  not  right  to  rescue 
a  poor  soul  who  is  drowning  —  of  course  not.  What  call 
have  you  fine  gentlemen  of  the  world  to  put  your  oar  in  ? 
Let  him  perish !  What  did  he  in  that  galley  ?  That  is 
the  language  of  the  world,  baby,  darling.  And,  ni}-  poor, 
poor  child,  when  you  are  sinking,  nobody  is  to  stretch  out 
a  hand  to  save  you ! ''  As  for  that  wife  of  mine,  when  she 
sets  forth  the  maternal  plea,  and  appeals  to  the  exuberant 
school  of  philosophers,  I  know  there  is  no  reasoning  Avith 
her.  I  retire  to  my  books,  and  leave  her  to  kiss  out  the 
rest  of  the  argument  over  the  children. 

Philip  did  not  know  the  extent  of  the  obligation  which 
he  owed  to  his  little  friend  and  guardian,  Caroline ;  but  he 
was  aware  that  he  had  no  better  friend  than  herself  in  the 
world  ;  and,  I  dare  say,  returned  to  her,  as  the  wont  is  in 
such  bargains  between  man  and  Avoman  —  woman  and  man, 
at  least  —  a  sixpence  for  that  pure  gold  treasure,  her  sov- 
ereign affection.  I  suppose  Caroline  thought  her  sacrifice 
gave  her  a  little  authority  to  counsel  Philip :  for  she  it  was 
whoj  I  believe,  first  bid  him  to  inquire  whether  that  en- 


282  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

gagement  which  he  had  virtually  contracted  with  his 
cousin  was  likely  to  lead  to  good,  and  was  to  be  binding 
upon  him  but  not  on  her  ?  She  brought  Ridley  to  add 
his  doubts  to  her  remonstrances.  She  showed  Philip  that 
not  only  his  uncle's  conduct,  but  his  cousin's,  was  inter- 
ested, and  set  him  to  inquire  into  it  further. 

That  peculiar  form  of  bronchitis  under  which  poor  dear 
Agnes  was  suffering  was  relieved  by  absence  from  London. 
The  smoke,  the  crowded  parties  and  assemblies,  the  late 
hours,  and,  perhaps,  the  gloom  of  the  house  in  Beaunash 
Street,  distressed  the  poor  dear  child;  and  her  cough  was 
very  much  soothed  by  that  fine,  cutting  east  wind,  which 
blows  so  liberally  along  the  Brighton  cliffs,  and  Avhicli  is  so 
good  for  coughs,  as  we  all  know.  But  there  was  one  fault 
in  Brighton  which  could  not  be  helped  in  her  bad  case :  it 
is  too  near  London.  The  air,  that  chartered  libertine,  can 
blow  down  from  London  quite  easily;  or  people  can  come 
from  London  to  Brighton,  bringing,  I  dare  say,  the  insidi- 
ous London  fog  along  with  them.  At  any  rate,  Agnes,  if 
she  wished  for  quiet,  poor  thing,  might  have  gone  farther 
and  fared  better.  Why,  if  you  owe  a  tailor  a  bill,  he  can  run 
down  and  present  it  in  a  few  hours.  Vulgar,  inconvenient 
acquaintances  thrust  themselves  upon  you  at  every  moment 
and  corner.  Was  ever  such  a  tohuhohu  of  people  as  there 
assembles  ?  You  can't  be  tranquil,  if  you  will.  Organs 
pipe  and  scream  without  cease  at  your  windows.  Your 
name  is  put  down  in  the  papers  when  you  arrive ;  and 
everybody  meets  everybody  ever  so  many  times  a  day. 

On  finding  that  his  uncle  had  set  lawyers  to  work,  with 
the  charitable  purpose  of  ascertaining  whether  Philip's 
property  was  legitimately  his  own,  Philip  was  a  good  deal 
disturbed  in  mind.  He  could  not  appreciate  that  high 
sense  of  moral  obligation  by  which  Mr.  Twysden  was  actu- 
ated. At  least,  he  thought  that  these  inquiries  should  not 
have  been  secretly  set  afoot ;  and  as  he  himself  was  per- 
fectly open  —  a  great  deal  too  open,  perhaps  —  in  his 
words  and  his  actions,  he  was  hard  with  those  who  at- 
tempted to  hoodwink  or  deceive  him. 

It  could  not  be ;  ah !  no,  it  never  could  be,  that  Agnes 
the  pure  and  gentle  was  privy  to  this  conspiracy.  But 
then,  how  very  —  very  often  of  late  she  has  been  from 
home ;  how  very,  very  cold  Aunt  Twysden's  shoulder  had 
somehow  become.  Once,  when  he  reached  the  door,  a  fish- 
monger's boy  was  leaving  a  fine  salmon  at  the  kitchen,  —  a 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        283 

salmon  and  a  tub  of  ice.  Once,  twice,  at  five  o'clock,  when 
he  called,  a  smell  of  cooking  pervaded  the  hall,  —  that  hall 
which  culinary  odors  very  seldom  visited.  Some  of  those 
noble  Twysden  dinners  were  on  the  tapis,  and  Philip  was 
not  asked.  Xot  to  be  asked  was  no  great  deprivation ;  but 
who  were  the  guests  ?  To  be  sure,  these  were  trifles  light 
as  air;  but  Philip  smelt  mischief  in  the  steam  of  these 
Twysden  dinners.  He  chewed  that  salmon  with  a  bitter 
sauce  as  he  saw  it  sink  down  the  area  steps  and  disappear 
with  its  attendant  lobster  in  the  dark  kitchen  regions. 

Yes  ;  eyes  were  somehow  averted  that  used  to  look  into 
his  very  frankly  ;  a  glove  somehow  had  grown  over  a  little 
hand  which  once  used  to  lie  very  comfortably  in  his  broad 
palm.  Was  anybody  else  going  to  seize  it,  and  was  it  going 
to  paddle  in  that  blackamoor's  unblest  lingers  ?  Ah  !  fiends 
and  tortures !  a  gentleman  may  cease  to  love,  but  does  he 
like  a  woman  to  cease  to  love  him  ?  People  carry  on  ever 
so  long  for  fear  of  that  declaration  that  all  is  over. 
No  confession  is  more  dismal  to  make.  The  sun  of  love  has 
set.  We  sit  in  the  dark.  I  mean  you,  dear  madam,  and 
Corydon,  or  I  and  Amaryllis  ;  uncomfortably,  with  nothing 
more  to  say  to  one  another ;  with  the  night  dew  falling, 
and  a  risk  of  catching  cold,  drearily  contemplating  the  fad- 
ing west,  with  "the  cold  remains  of  lustre  gone,  of  lire 
long  passed  away."  Sink,  fire  of  love  !  Eise,  gentle  moon, 
and  mists  of  chilly  evening.  And,  my  good  Madam  Amaryl- 
lis, let  us  go  home  to  some  tea  and  a  fire. 

So  Philip  determined  to  go  and  seek  his  cousin.  Arrived 
at  his  hotel  (and  if  it  were  the  *  *  I  can't  conceive 
Philip  in  much  better  quarters),  he  had  the  opportunity 
of  inspecting  those  delightful  newspaper  arrivals,  a  peru- 
sal of  which  has  so  often  edified  us  at  Brighton.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Penfold,  he  was  informed,  continued  their  residence. 
No.  96,  Horizontal  Place ;  and  it  was  with  those  guardians 
he  knew  his  Agnes  was  staying.  He  speeds  to  Horizontal 
Place.  Idiss  Twysden  is  out.  He  heaves  a  sigh,  and 
leaves  a  card.  Has  it  ever  happened  to  you  to  leave  a 
card  at  that  house  —  that  house  whi^h  was  once  the  house 
—  almost  your  own;  where  j^ou  were  ever  welcome; 
where  the  kindest  hand  was  ready  to  grasp  yours,  the 
brightest  eye  to  greet  you  ?  And  now  your  friendship 
has  dwindled  away  to  a  little  bit  of  pasteboard,  shed  once 
a  year,  and  poor  dear  ]\lrs.  Jones  (it  is  with  J.  you  have 
quarrelled)  still  calls  on  the  ladies  of  your  family  and  slips 


284  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

lier  husband's  ticket  upon  the  hall  table.  Oh,  life  and  time, 
that  it  shcndd  have  come  to  tliis  I  Oh,  gracious  j)owei.s! 
Do  you  recall  the  time  when  Arabella  Briggs  was  Arabella 
Tliompson  ?  You  call  and  t^W  fadaises  to  her  (at  first  she 
is  rather  nervous,  and  has  the  children  in)  ;  you  talk  rain 
and  fine  weather  ;  the  last  novel ;  the  next  party  ;  Thomp- 
son in  the  City  ?  Yes,  Mr.  Thompson  is  in  the  City.  He's 
pretty  well,  thank  you.  Ah !  Daggers,  ropes,  and  poi- 
sons, has  it  come  to  this  ?  You  are  talking  about  the 
weather,  and  another  man's  health,  and  another  man's 
children,  of  which  she  is  mother,  to  her?  Time  was,  the 
weather  was  all  a  burning  sunshine,  in  which  you  and  she 
basked;  or  if  clouds  gathered,  and  a  storm  fell,  such  a 
glorious  rainbow  haloed  round  you,  such  delicious  tears 
fell  and  refreshed  you,  that  the  storm  was  more  ravishing 
than  the  calm.  And  now  another  man's  children  are  sit- 
ting on  her  knee  —  their  mother's  knee  ;  and  once  a  year 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Thompson  request  the  honor  of  Mr. 
Brown's  company  at  dinner ;  and  once  a  year  you  read  in 
The  Times,  "  In  Nursery  Street,  the  wife  of  J.  Thompson, 
Esq.,  of  a  Son."  To  come  to  the  once-beloved  one's  door, 
and  find  the  knocker  tied  up  with  a  white  kid  glove,  is 
humiliating — say  what  you  will,  it  is  humiliating. 

Philip  leaves  his  card,  and  walks  on  to  the  Cliff,  and  of 
course,  in  three  minutes,  meets  Clinker.  Indeed,  who  ever 
went  to  Brighton  for  half  an  hour  without  meeting  Clinker? 

"  Father  pretty  well  ?  His  old  patient,  Lady  Geminy, 
is  down  here  with  the  children ;  what  a  number  of  them 
there  are,  to  be  sure !  Come  to  make  any  stay  ?  See  your 
cousin,  Miss  Twysden,  is  here  with  the  Penfolds.  Little 
party  at  the  Grigsons'  last  night ;  she  looked  uncommonly 
well :  danced  ever  so  many  times  with  the  Black  Prince, 
Woolcomb  of  the  Greens.  Suppose  I  may  congratulate 
you.  Six  thousand  five  hundred  a  year  now,  and  thirteen 
thousand  when  his  grandmother  dies  ;  but  those  negresses 
live  forever.  I  suppose  the  thing  is  settled.  I  saw  them 
on  the  pier  just  now,  and  Mrs.  Penfold  was  reading  a  book 
in  the  arbor.  Book  of  sermons  it  was  —  pious  woman, 
Mrs.  Penfold.  I  dare  say  they  are  on  the  pier  still." 
Striding  with  hurried  steps  Philip  Fii-min  makes  for  the 
pier.  The  breathless  Clinker  cannot  keep  alongside  of  his 
face.  I  should  like  to  have  seen  it  when  Clinker  said  that 
"the  thing"  was  settled  between  Miss  Twysden  and  the 
cavalry  gentleman. 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        2So 

There  were  a  few  nursery  governesses,  maids,  and  cliil- 
dren,  paddling  about  at  the  end  of  the  pier ;  and  there  was 
a  fat  woman  reading  a  book  in  one  of  the  arbors  —  but  no 
Agnes,  no  Wook'omb.  Where  can  they  be  ?  Can  they  be 
weighing  each  other  ?  or  buying  those  mad  pebbles,  which 
people  are  known  to  purchase  ?  or  having  their  silhouettes 
done  in  black  ?  Ha !  ha !  Woolcomb  would  hardly  have 
his  face  done  in  black.  The  idea  would  provoke  odious 
comparisons.  1  see  Philip  is  in  a  dreadfully  bad  sarcastic 
humor. 

Up  there  comes  from  one  of  those  trap-doors  wdiich  lead 
down  from  the  pier-head  to  the  green  sea-waves  ever  rest- 
lessly jumping  below  —  up  there  comes  a  little  Skye-terrier 
dog  with  a  red  collar,  who,  as  soon  as  she  sees  Philip,  sings, 
squeaks,  whines,  runs,  jumps,  flumps  up  on  him,  if  I  may 
use  the  expression,  kisses  his  hands,  and  with  eyes,  tongue, 
paws,  and  tail  shows  him  a  thousand  marks  of  welcome  and 
affection.  "  What,  Brownie,  Brownie  !  *'  J^hilip  is  glad  to 
see  the  dog,  an  old  friend  who  has  many  a  time  licked  his 
hand  and  bounced  upon  his  knee. 

The  greeting  over,  Brownie,  wagging  her  tail  with  pro- 
digious activity,  trots  before  Philip — trots  down  an  open- 
ing, down  the  steps  under  which  the  waves  shimmer 
greenly,  and  into  quite  a  quiet  remote  corner  just  over 
the  water,  whence  you  may  command  a  most  beautiful  view 
of  the  sea,  the  shore,  the  Marine  Parade,  and  the  "  Albion 
Hotel,"  and  where,  were  I  five-and-twenty  say,  with 
nothing  else  to  do,  I  would  gladly  pass  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  talking  about  "  G-laucus,  or  the  Wonders  of  the  Deep  " 
with  the  object  of  my  affections. 

Here,  amongst  the  labyrinth  of  piles,  Brow^nie  goes 
flouncing  along  till  she  comes  to  a  young  couple  who  are 
looking  at  the  view  just  described.  In  order  to  view  it 
better,  the  young  man  has  laid  his  hand,  a  pretty  little 
hand  most  delicately  gloved,  on  the  lady's  hand ;  and 
Brownie  comes  up  and  nuzzles  against  her,  and  whines  and 
talks  as  much  as  to  say,  "Here's  somebody,"  and  the  lady 
says,  "  Down,  Brownie,  miss." 

"  It's  no  good,  Agnes,  that  dog,"  says  the  gentleman  (he 
has  very  curly,  not  to  say  woolly  hair,  under  his  natty 
little  hat).  "  I'll  give  j'ou  a  pug  with  a  nose  you  can 
hang  your  hat  on.  I  do  know  of  one  now.  My  man  Kum- 
mins  knows  of  one.     Do  you  like  pugs  ?  " 

"  I  adore  them/"  says  the  lady. 


286 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 


"I'll  give  you  one,  if  i  have  to  pay  fifty  pounds  for  it. 
And  they  fetch  a  good  figure,  the  real  pugs  do,  I  can  tell 
you.  Once  in  London  there  was  an  exhibition  of  'em, 
and  —  " 


"Brownie,  Brownie,  down  !"  cries  Agnes.  The  dog  was 
jumping  at  a  gentleman,  a  tall  gentleman  with  a  red  mous- 
tache and  beard,  who  advances  through  the  checkered  sliade, 
under  the  ponderous  beams,  over  the  translucent  sea. 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        287 

"  Pray  don't  mind,  Brownie  won't  hurt  me,"  says  a  per- 
fectly Avell  known  voice,  the  sound  of  which  sends  all  the 
color  shuddering  out  of  Miss  Agnes's  pink  cheeks. 

"  You  see  I  gave  my  cousin  this  dog,  Captain  Wool- 
comb,"  says  the  gentleman ;  "  and  the  little  slut  remem- 
bers me.     Perhaps  Miss  Twysden  prefers  the  pug  better." 

"  Sir  ! " 

"  If  it  has  a  nose  you  can  hang  3'our  hat  on,  it  must  be  a 
very  pretty  dog,  and  I  suppose  you  intend  to  hang  your  hat 
on  it  a  good  deal." 

''Oh,  Philip!"  says  the  lady;  but  an  attack  of  that 
dreadful  coughing  stops  further  utterance. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

eO]?J^TAIXS    TWO    OF    PHILIP's    MISHAPS. 


Oil  know  that,  in  some  parts 
of  India,  infanticide  is  the 
common  custom.  It  is  part 
of  the  religion  of  the  land, 
as,  in  other  districts,  widow- 
burning  used  to  be.  I  can't 
imagine  that  ladies  like  to 
destroy  either  themselves  or 
their  children,  though  they 
submit  with  bravery,  and 
even  cheerfulness,  to  the  de- 
crees of  that  religion  which 
orders  them  to  make  away 
with  their  own  or  their 
young  ones'  lives.  Now, 
suppose  you  and  I,  as  Euro- 
peans, happened  to  drive  up  where  a  young  creature  was 
just  about  to  roast  herself,  under  the  advice  of  her  family 
and  the  highest  dignitaries  of  her  church ;  what  could  we 
do  ?  Rescue  her?  No  such  thing.  We  know  better  than 
to  interfere  with  her,  and  the  laws  and  usages  of  her 
country.  We  turn  away  with  a  sigh  from  the  mournful 
scene  ;  we  pull  out  our  pocket-handkerchiefs,  tell  coachman 
to  drive  on,  and  leave  her  to  her  sad  fate. 

Now  about  poor  Agnes  Twysden :  how,  in  the  name  of 
goodness,  can  we  help  her  ?  You  see  she  is  a  well-brought- 
up  and  religious  young  woman  of  the  Brahminical  sect.  If 
she  is  to  be  sacrificed,  that  old  Brahmin,  her  father,  that 
good  and  devout  mother,  that  most  special  Brahmin  her 
brother,  and  that  admirable  girl  her  straight-laced  sister,  all 
insist  upon  her  undergoing  the  ceremony,  and  deck  her 
with  flowers  ere  they  lead  her  to  that  dismal  altar  flame. 
Suppose,  I  say,  she  has  made  up  her  mind  to  throw  over 
poor  Philip,  and  take  on  with  some  one  else  ?     What  seati- 

288 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP.  289 

ment  ought  our  virtuous  bosoms  to  entertain  towards  her  ? 
Anger  ?  I  have  just  been  holding  a  conversation  with  a 
young  fellow  in  rags  and  without  shoes,  whose  bed  is  com- 
monly a  dry  arch,  who  has  been  repeatedly  in  .prison, 
whose  father  and  mother  were  thieves,  and  whose  grand- 
fathers were  thieves  ;  —  are  we  to  be  angry  with  him  for 
following  the  paternal  profession  ?  With  one  eye  brim- 
ming with  pity,  the  other  steadily  keeping  watch  over 
the  family  spoons,  I  listen  to  his  artless  tale.  I  have  no 
anger  against  that  child;  nor  towards  thee,  Agnes,  daughter 
of  Talbot  the  Brahmin. 

For  though  duty  is  duty,  when  it  comes  to  the  pinch,  it 
is  often  hard  to  do.  Though  dear  jjapa  and  mamma  say 
that  here  is  a  gentleman  with  ever  so  many  thousands  a 
year,  an  undoubted  part  in  So-and-So-shire,  and  whole 
islands  in  the  western  main,  who  is  wildly  in  love  with 
your  fair  skin  and  blue  ej^es,  and  is  ready  to  fling  all  his 
treasures  at  your  feet ;  yet,  after  all,  when  you  consider 
that  he  is  very  ignorant,  though  very  cunning  ;  very  stingy, 
though  very  rich;  very  ill  tempered,  probably,  if  faces  and 
eyes  and  mouths  can  tell  truth :  and  as  for  Philip  Firmin 
—  though  actually  his  legitimacy  is  dubious,  as  we  have 
lately  heard,  in  wliich  case  his  maternal  fortune  is  ours  — 
and  as  for  his  paternal  inheritance,  we  don't  know  whether 
the  doctor  is  worth  thirty  thousand  pounds  or  a  shilling ;  — 
yet,  after  all  —  as  for  Philip  —  he  is  a  man  ;  he  is  a  gentle- 
man ;  he  has  brains  in  his  head,  and  a  great  honest  heart 
of  which  he  has  offered  to  give  the  best  feelings  to  his 
cousin  :  —  I  say,  when  a  poor  girl  has  to  be  off  with  that 
old  love,  that  honest  and  fair  love,  and  be  on  with  the  new 
one,  the  dark  one,  I  feel  for  her;  and  though  the  Brahmins 
iS-e,  as  we  know,  the  most  genteel  sect  in  Hindostan,  I 
rather  wish  the  poor  child  could  have  belonged  to  some 
lower  and  less  rigid  sect.  Poor  Agnes  !  to  think  that  he 
has  sat  for  hours,  with  mamma  and  Blanche  or  the  gover- 
ness, of  course,  in  the  room  (for,  you  know,  when  she  and 
Phili])  were  quite  wee,  wee  things,  dear  mamma  had  little 
amiable  plans  in  view)  ;  has  sat  for  hours  b}'  Miss  Twys- 
den's  side  pouring  out  his  heart  to  her;  has  had,  mayhap, 
little  precious  moments  of  confidential  talk  —  little  hasty 
whispers  in  corridors,  on  stairs,  behind  window-curtains, 
and  —  and  so  forth  in  fact.  She  must  remember  all  this 
past ;  and  can't,  without  some  pang,  listen  on  the  same  sofa, 
behind  the  same  window-curtains,  to  her  dark  suitor  pour- 

VOL.    I.  — 19 


290  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

ing  out  his  artless  tales  of  barracks,  boxing,  horseflesh,  and 
the  tender  passion.  He  is  dull,  he  is  mean,  he  is  ill-tenv 
pered,  he  is  ignorant,  and  the  other  was  .  .  .  ;  but  she 
will  do-  her  duty ;  oh,  yes !  she  will  do  her  duty  !  Poor 
Agnes  !  C'est  a  fendre  le  cwur.  I  declare  I  quite  feel  for 
her. 

When  Philip's  temper  was  roused,  I  have  been  compelled, 
as  his  biographer,  to  own  how  very  rude  and  disagreeable 
he  could  be  ;  and  you  must  acknowledge  that  a  young  man 
has  some  reason  to  be  displeased,  when  he  finds  the  girl  ot 
his  heart  hand-in-hand  with  another  young  gentleman  in  an 
occult  and  shady  recess  of  the  wood-work  of  Brighton 
Pier.  The  green  waves  are  softly  murmuring ;  so  is  the 
officer  of  the  Life  Guards  Green.  The  waves  are  kissing 
the  beach.  Ah,  agonizing  thought  !  1  will  not  pursue  the 
simile,  Avhich  may  be  but  a  jealous  man's  mad  fantasy.  Of 
this  I  am  sure,  no  pebble  on  that  beach  is  cooler  than 
polished  Agnes.  But,  then,  Philip  drunk  with  jealousy  is 
not  a  reasonable  being  like  Philip  sober.  ''  He  had  a  dread- 
ful temper,"  Philip's  dear  aunt  said  of  him  afterwards  — 
"  I  trembled  for  my  dear  gentle  child,  united  forever  to  a 
man  of  that  violence.  >[ever,  in  my  secret  mind,  could  I 
think  that  their  union  could  be  a  happy  one.  Besides,  jou 
know,  the  nearness  of  their  relationship.  M}^  scruples  on 
that  score,  dear  Mrs.  Candor,  never,  never  could  be  quite 
got  over."  And  these  scruples  came  to  weigh  whole  tons, 
when  Mangrove  Hall,  the  house  in  Berkeley  Square,  and 
Mr.  Woolcomb's  West  India  island  were  put  into  the  scale 
along  with  them. 

Of  course  there  was  no  good  in  remaining  amongst  those 
damp,  reeking  timbers,  noAv  that  the  pretty  little  tete-a-tete 
was  over.  Little  Brownie  hung  fondling  and  whining  round 
Philip's  ankles,  as  the  party  ascended  to  the  upper  air. 
"  ^ly  child,  how  pale  you  look  ! "  cried  Mrs.Penfold,  putting 
down  her  volume.  Out  of  the  Captain's  opal  eyeballs  shot 
lurid  flames,  and  hot  blood  burned  behind  his  yellow 
cheeks.  In  a  quarrel,  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  coiQd  be  particu- 
larly cool  and  self-possessed.  When  Miss  Agnes  rather 
piteously  introduced  him  to  Mrs.  Penfold,  he  made  a  bow 
as  polite  and  gracious  as  any  performed  by  his  royal  father. 
"  My  little  dog  knew  me,''  he  said,  caressing  the  animal. 
"  She  is  a  faithful  little  thing,  and  she  led  me  down  to  my 
cousin;  and — Captain  Wcolcomb,  I  think,  is  your  name, 
sir  ?  " 


ox  Hrs    WAV  THROUGH  THE    WORLD.        291 

As  Philip  curls  his  moustache  and  smiles  blandly,  Cap- 
tun  Wuolcunib  pulls  his  and  scowls  hercely.  "  Yes,  sir," 
he  mutters,  '•  my  name  is  Woolcomb."  Another  bow  and  a 
touch  of  the  hat  from  Mr.  Firmin.  A  touch?  —  a  gracious 
wave  of  the  hat  \  acknowledged  by  no  means  so  gracefully 
by  Caj)tain  Woolcomb. 

To  these  remarks  ^Irs.  Tenfold  says,  ''  Oh  !  "  In  fact, 
"  Oh  !  "  is  about  the  best  thing  that  could  be  said  under  the 
circunistances. 

^•'  M}'  cousin,  Miss  Twysden,  looks  so  pale  because  she 
was  out  very  late  dancing  last  night.  I  hear  it  was  a  very 
pretty  ball.  But  ought  she  to  keep  such  late  hours,  Mrs. 
Penfold,  with  her  delicate  health  ?  Indeed,  you  ought  not, 
Agnes  !  Ought  she  to  keep  late  hours,  Brownie  ?  There  — 
don't,  you  little  foolish  thing  !  I  gave  my  cousin  the  dog: 
and  she's  very  fond  of  me  — the  dog  is  —  still.  You  were 
saying,  Captain  Woolcomb,  when  I  came  up,  that  you  would 
give  Miss  Twysden  a  dog  on  whose  nose  you  could  hang 
your  .  .   .  I  beg  pardon?'' 

j\lr.  AVoolcomb,  as  Philip  made  this  second  allusion  to 
the  peculiar  n;isal  formation  of  the  pug,  ground  his  little 
white  teeth  together,  and  let  slip  a  most  impi-oper  mono- 
syllable. jNIore  acute  broncliial  suffering  was  manifested 
oil  the  part  of  ]\riss  Twysden.  ^Irs.  Penfold  said,  '•  The 
day  is  clouding  over.  I  think,  Agnes,  I  will  have  my  chair, 
and  go  home." 

'•  May  I  be  allowed  to  walk  with  you  as  far  as  your 
house  ?  "  says  Philip,  twiddling  a  little  locket  which  he 
wore  at  his  watch-chain.  It  v/as  a  little  gold  locket,  with  a 
little  pale  hair  inside.  Whose  hair  could  it  have  been  that 
was  so  pale  and  fine  ?  As  for  the  pretty,  hieroglyphical  A. 
T.  at  the  back,  those  letters  might  indicate  Alfred  Tenny- 
son, or  Anthony  Trollope,  who  might  have  given  a  lock  of 
their  golden  hair  to  Philip,  for  I  kr^ow  he  is  an  admirer  of 
'heir  works. 

Agnes  looked  guiltily  at  the  little  locket.  Captain  Wool- 
comb pulled  his  moustache  so,  that  yoii  would  have  thought 
he  would  have  ])ulled  it  off;  and  his  opal  eyes  glared  with 
fearful  confusion  and  wrath. 

"  Will  you  please  to  fall  back  and  let  me  speak  to  you, 
Agnes  ?  Pardon  me.  Captain  Woolcomb,  I  have  a  private 
message  for  my  cousin  ;  and  I  came  from  London  expressly 
to  deliver  it." 

"If  Miss  Twysden  desires  me  to  withdraw,  I  fall  back  in 


292  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

one  moment,"  says  the  Captain,  clenching  the  little  lemon- 
colored  gloves. 

"  j\[y  cousin  and  1  have  lived  together  all  our  lives,  and 
I  bring  her  a  family  message.  Have  you  any  particular 
claim  to  hear  it,  Captain  Woolcomb  ?  " 

''Not  if  Miss  Twysden  don't  want  me  to  hear  it.  .  .  . 
D—  the  little  brute." 

"  Don't  kick  poor  little  harmless  Brownie  !  He  shan't 
kick  you,  shall  he,  Brownie  ?  " 

"  If  the  brute  comes  between  my  shins,  I'll  kick  her  ! " 
shrieks  the  Captain.  ''  Hang  her,  I'll  throw  her  into  the 
sea  ! " 

"  Whatever  you  do  to  my  dog,  I  swear  I  will  do  to  you  ! " 
whispers  Philip  to  the  Captain. 

"  Where  are  you  staying  ?  "  shrieks  the  Captain,  "  Hang 
you,  you  shall  hear  from  me." 

"  Quiet  —  '  Bedford  Hotel.'  Easy,  or  I  shall  think  you 
want  the  ladies  to  overhear." 

''  Your  conduct  is  horrible,  sir,"  says  Agnes,  rapidly,  in 
the  French  language,     "  Mr.  does  not  comprehend  it." 

" it !     If  you  have  any  secrets  to  talk,  I'll  withdraw 

fast  enough.  Miss  Agnes,"  says  Othello. 

"  Oh,  Grenville  !  can  I  have  any  secrets  from  you  ?  Mr. 
Firmin  is  my  first  cousin.  AVe  have  lived  together  all  our 
lives.  Philip,  I  —  I  don't  know  whether  mamma  announced 
to  you  —  my — my  engagement  with  Captain  Grenville 
AVoolcomb."  The  agitation  has  brought  on  another  severe 
bronchial  attack.  Poor,  poor,  little  Agnes !  What  it  is  to 
have  a  delicate  throat ! 

The  pier  tosses  up  to  the  skies,  as  though  it  had  left  its 
moorings  —  the  houses  on  the  cliff  dance  and  reel,  as 
though  an  earthquake  was  driving  them — the  sea  walks  up 
into  the  lodging-houses  —  and  Philip's  legs  are  failing  from 
under  him :  it  is  only  for  a  moment.  When  you  have  a 
large,  tough  double-tooth  out,  doesn't  the  chair  go  up  to  the 
ceiling,  and  your  head  come  off  too?  But,  in  the  next 
instant,  there  is  a  grave  gentleman  before  j^ou,  making  you 
a  bow,  and  concealing  something  in  his  right  sleeve.  The 
crash  is  over.  You  are  a  man  again.  Philip  clutches  hold 
of  the  chain-pier  for  a  moment :  it  does  not  sink  under  him. 
The  houses,  after  reeling  for  a  second  or  two,  reassume  the 
perpendicular,  and  bulge  their  bow-windows  towards  the 
main.  He  can  see  the  people  looking  from  the  windows, 
the  carriages  passing,  Professor  Spurrier  riding  on  the  cliff 


ON  HJS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        293 

with  eighteen  young  ladies,  liis  pupils.  In  long  after-days 
he  remembers  those  absurd  little  incidents  with  a  curious 
tenacity. 

'•This  news,"  Philip  says,  "was  not  —  not  altogether  un- 
expected. I  congratulate  my  cousin,  I  am  sure.  Captain 
AVoolcomb,  had  I  known  this  for  certain,  I  am  sure  I  should 
not  have  interrupted  you.  You  were  going,  perhaps,  to  ask 
me  to  your  hospitable  house,  ^Irs.  Penfold  ?  " 

"  Was  she,  though  ?  "  cries  the  Captain. 

"  I  have  asked  a  friend  to  dine  with  nie  at  the  '  Bedford,' 
and  shall  go  to  town,  I  hope,  in  the  morniug.  Can  I  take 
anything  for  you,  Agnes  ?  Good-by."  And  he  kisses  his 
hand  m  quite  a  deyiKje  manner,  as  Mrs.  Pen  fold's  chair 
turns  eastward  and  he  goes  to  the  west.  Silently  the  tall 
Agnes  sweeps  along,  a  fair  hand  laid  upon  her  friend's 
chair. 

It's  over !  it's  over  !  She  has  done  it.  He  was  bound, 
and  kept  his  honor,  but  she  did  not :  it  was  she  who  for- 
sook him.  And  I  fear  very  much  Mr.  Philip's  heart  leaps 
with  pleasure  and  an  immense  sensation  of  relief  at  think- 
ing he  is  free.  He  meets  half  a  dozen  acquaintances  on  the 
cliff.  He  laughs,  jokes,  shakes  hands,  invites  two  or  three 
to  dinner  in  the  gayest  manner.  He  sits  down  on  that 
green,  not  very  far  from  his  inn,  and  is  laughing  to  himself, 
when  he  suddenly  feels  something  nestling  at  his  knee,  — 
rubbing,  and  nestling,  and  whining  plaintively.  •'  What,  is 
that  you?"  It  is  little  Brownie  who  has  followed  him. 
Poor  little  rogue  ! 

Then  Philip  bent  down  his  head  over  the  dog,  and  as  it 
jumped  on  him  with  little  bleats,  and  whines,  and  innocent 
caresses,  he  broke  out  into  a  sob,  and  a  great  refreshing 
rain  of  tears  fell  from  his  eyes.  Such  a  little  illness  I  Such 
a  mild  fever !  Such  a  speedy  cure  !  Some  people  have  the 
complaint  so  mildly  that  they  are  scarcely  ever  kept  to  their 
beds.     Some  bear  its  scars  forever. 

Philip  sat  resolutely  at  the  hotel  all  night,  having  given 
special  orders  to  the  porter  to  say  that  he  was  at  home,  in 
case  any  gentleman  should  call.  '^  He  had  a  faint  hope,  he 
afterwards  owned,  that  some  friend  of  Cf  ptain  Woolcomb 
might  wait  on  him  on  that  officer's  part.  He  had  a  faint 
hope  that  a  letter  might  come  explaining  that  treason,  —  as 
people  will  have  a  sick,  gnawing,  yearning,  foolish  desire 
for  letters  —  letters  which  contain  nothing,  which  never 
did  contain  anything  —  letters  which,  nevertheless,  you — 


294  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

You  kno^y,  in  fact,  about  those  letters,  aud  there  is  no 
earthly  use  in  asking  to  read  Philip's.  Have  we  not  all 
read  those  love-letters  which,  after  love-quarrels,  come  into 
court  sometimes  ?  AVe  have  all  read  them  ;  and  how  many 
have  written  them  ?  Nine  o'clock.  Ten  o'clock.  Eleven 
o'clock.  No  challenge  from  the  Captain ;  no  explanation 
from  Agnes.  Philip  declares  he  slept  perfectly  well.  But 
poor  little  Brownie  the  dog  made  a  piteous  howling  all  night 
in  the  stables.  She  was  not  a  well-bred  dog.  You  could 
not  have  hung  the  least  hat  on  her  nose. 

We  compared  anon  our  dear  Agnes  to  a  Brahmin  lady, 
meekly  offering  herself  up  to  sacrifice  according  to  the 
practice  used  in  her  highly  respectable  caste.  Did  we  speak 
in  anger  or  in  sorrow  ?  —  surely  in  terms  of  respectful 
grief  and  sympathy.  And  if  we  pity  her,  ought  we  not  like- 
wise to  pity  her  highly  respectable  parents  ?  AVhen  the 
notorious  Brutus  ordered  his  sons  to  execurion,  you  can't 
suppose  he  was  such  a  brute  as  to  be  pleased  ?  All  three 
parties  suffered  by  the  transaction  :  the  sons,  probably,  even 
jnore  than  their  austere  father ;  but  it  stands  to  reason  that 
the  whole  trio  were  very  melancholy.  At  least,  were  I  a  poet 
or  musical  composer  depicting  that  business,  I  certainly 
should  make  them  so.  The  sons,  piping  in  a  very  minor 
key  indeed ;  the  father's  manl}^  basso  accompanied  by  deep 
wind  instruments,  and  interrupted  by  appropriate  sobs. 
Though  pretty  fair  Agnes  is  being  led  to  execution,  I  don't 
suppose  she  likes  it,  or  that  her  parents  are  happy,  who  are 
compelled  to  order  the  tragedy. 

That  the  rich  young  proprietor  of  Mangrove  Hall  should 
be  fond  of  her  was  merely  a  coincidence,  Mrs.  Twysden 
afterwards  always  averred.  Not  for  mere  wealth  —  ah,  no  ! 
not  for  mines  of  gold  —  would  the}^  sacrifice  their  darling 
child.  But  when  that  sad  Firmin  affair  happened,  you  see 
it  also  happened  that  Captain  Woolcomb  was  much  struck 
by  dear  Agnes,  whom  he  met  everywhere.  Her  scape- 
grace of  a  cousin  would  go  nowhere.  He  preferred  his 
bachelor  associates,  and  horrible  smoking  and  drinking 
habits,  to  the  amusements  and  pleasures  of  more  refined 
society.  He  neglected  Agnes.  There  is  not  the  slightest 
doubt  he  neglected  and  mortified  her,  and  his  wilful  and 
frequent  absence  showed  how  little  he  cared  for  her. 
Would  you  blame  the  dear  girl  for  coldness  to  a  man  who 
himself  showed  such  indifference  to  her  ?  "No,  my  good 
Mrs.  Candor.     Had  Mr.  Firmin  been  ten  times  as  rich  as 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WOULD.        295 

Mr.  Woolcoinb,  I  should  have  counselled  my  child  to  refuse 
him.  /  take  the  responsibility  of  the  measure  entirely  on 
myself  —  I,  and  her  father,  and  her  brother."  80  Mrs. 
Twysden  afterwards  spoke,  in  circles  where  an  absurd  and 
odious  rumor  ran,  that  the  Tw3^sdens  had  forced  their 
daughter  to  jilt  young  Mr.  Firmin  in  order  to  marry  a 
wealthy  quadroon.  People  will  talk,  you  know,  de  me,  de 
te.  If  AA'oolcomb's  dinners  had  not  gone  off  so  after  his 
marriage,  I  have  little  doubt  the  scandal  would  have  died 
away,  and  he  and  his  wife  might  have  been  pretty  generally 
respected  and  visited. 

Nor  must  you  suppose,  as  we  have  said,  that  dear  Agnes 
gave  up  her  lirst  love  without  a  pang.  That  bronchitis 
showed  how  acutely  the  poor  thing  felt  her  position.  It 
broke  out  very  soon  after  Mr.  Woolcomb's  attentions  became 
a  little  particular ;  and  she  actually  left  London  in  conse- 
quence. It  is  true  that  he  could  follow  her  without  diffi- 
culty, but  so,  for  the  matter  of  that,  could  Philip,  as  we 
have  seen  when  he  came  down  and  behaved  so  rudely  to 
Captain  Woolcomb.  And  before  Philip  came,  poor  Agnes 
could  plead,  '•  i\Iy  father  pressed  me  sair,"  as  in  the  case  of 
the  notorious  Mrs.  Eobin  Gray. 

Father  and  mother  both  pressed  her  sair.  INIrs.  Twysden, 
I  think  I  have  mentioned,  wrote  an  admirable  letter,  and 
was  aware  of  her  accomplishment.  She  used  to  write  reams 
of  gossip  regularly  every  week  to  dear  uncle  Ringwood 
when  he  was  in  the  country :  and  when  her  daughter 
Blanche  married,  she  is  said  to  have  written  several  of  her 
new  son's  sermons.  As  a  Christian  mother,  was  she  not  to 
give  her  daughter  her  advice  at  this  momentous  period  of 
her  life  ?  That  advice  Avent  against  poor  Philip's  chances 
with  his  cousin,  w^ho  was  kept  acquainted  with  all  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  controversy  of  which  we  have  just  seen 
the  issue.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Mrs.  Twysden  gave 
an  impartial  statement  of  the  case.  What  parties  in  a 
law-suit  do  speak  impartially  on  their  own  side  or  their  ad- 
versaries' ?  Mrs.  Twysden's  view,  as  I  have  learned  subse- 
quently, and  as  imparted  to  her  daughter,  was  this :  —  Tliat 
most  unprincipled  man,  Dr.  Firmin,  who  had  already 
attempted,  and  unjustly,  to  deprive  the  Twysdens  of  a  part 
of  their  property,  had  commenced  in  quite  early  life  his 
career  of  outrage  and  wickedness  against  the  Pingwood 
famih\  He  had  led  dear  Lord  Pingwood's  son,  poor  dea,r 
Lord  Cinqbars,  into  a  career  of  vice  and  extravagance  which 


296  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

caused  the  premature  death  of  that  unfortunate  young 
nobleman,  llr.  Firmin  had  then  made  a  marriage,  in  spite 
of  the  tears  and  entreaties  of  Mrs.  Twysden,  with  her  late 
unhappy  sister,  whose  whole  life  had  been  made  wretched 
by  the  doctor's  conduct.  But  the  climax  of  outrage  and 
wickedness  was,  that  when  he  —  he,  a  low,  penniless  adven- 
turer— married  Colonel  Kingwood's  daughter,  he  was 
married  already,  as  could  be  sworn  by  the  repentant  clergy- 
man who  had  been  forced,  by  threats  of  punishment  which 
Dr.  Eirniin  held  over  him,  to  perform  the  rite !  "  The 
mind  "  —  JVIrs.  Talbot  Twysden's  fine  mind  —  "  shuddered 
at  the  thought  of  such  wickedness."  But  most  of  all  (for 
to  think  ill  of  any  one  whom  she  had  once  loved  gave  her 
pain)  there  was  reason  to  believe  that  the  unhappy  Philip 
Firmin  was  \\\?>  father'^ s  accomjjllce,  and  that  he  knew  of  his 
own  illegitimacy,  which  he  was  determined  to  set  aside  by 
2ii\y  fraud  or  artifice — (she  trembled,  she  wept  to  have  to 
say  this  :  0  heaven !  that  there  should  be  such  perversity 
in  thy  creatures !)  And  so  little  store  did  Philip  set  by 
his  mother's  honor  that  he  actually  visited  the  abandoned 
w^oman  who  acquiesced  in  her  own  infamy,  and  had  brought 
such  unspeakable  disgrace  on  the  Eingwood  family!  The 
thought  of  this  crime  had  caused  Mrs.  Twysden  and  her 
dear  husband  nights  of  sleepless  anguish — had  made  them 
years  and  years  older  —  had  stricken  their  hearts  with  a 
grief  which  must  endure  to  the  end  of  their  days.  AVith 
]  eople  so  scrupulous,  so  grasping,  so  artful  as  Dr.  Pirmiu 
and  (must  she  sa}^  ?)  his  son,  they  were  bound  to  be  on 
their  guard;  and  though  they  had  avoided  Philip,  she  had 
deemed  it  right,  on  the  rare  occasions  when  she  and  the 
young  man  whom  she  must  now  call  her  illegitimate  nejihew 
met,  to  behave  as  though  she  knew  nothing  of  this  most 
dreadful  controversy. 

^'And  now,  dearest  child"  .  .  .  Surely  the  moral  is 
obvious?  The  dearest  child  "must  see  at  once  that  any 
foolish  plans  which  were  formed  in  childish  days  and  under 
former  delusions  must  be  cast  aside  forever  as  impossible, 
as  unworthy  of  a  Twysden  —  of  a  Ringwood.  Be  not  con- 
cerned for  the  young  man  himself,"  wrote  Mrs.  Tw3'sden, 
—  "I  blush  that  he  should  bear  that  dear  father's  name 
who  was  slain  in  honor  on  Busaco's  glorious  field.  P.  F. 
has  associates  amongst  whom  he  has  ever  been  much  more  at 
home  than  in  our  refined  circle,  and  habits  which  will  cause 
him  to  forget  jow  only  too  easily.     And  if  near  you  is  one 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        207 

whose  ardor  sliows  itself  in  liis  every  word  and  action, 
whose  wealth  and  property  may  raise  you  to  a  place  worthy 
of  my  child,  need  I  say,  a  mother's,  a  father's  blessing  go 
with  you."  This  letter  was  brought  to  Miss  Twysden,  at 
Brighton,  by  a  special  messenger :  and  the  superscription 
announced  that  it  was  "honored  by  Captain  Grenville 
Woolcomb." 

Xow  when  Miss  Agnes  has  had  a  letter  to  this  effect  (I 
may  at  some  time  tell  you  how  I  came  to  be  acquainted 
with  its  contents)  ;  when  she  remembers  all  the  abuse  her 
brother  lavishes  against  Philip  as,  heaven  bless  some  of 
them!  dear  relatives  can  best  do;  when  she  thinks  how 
cold  he  has  of  late  been  —  how  he  ivlll  come  smelling  of 
cigars — how  he  won't  conform  to  the  usages  du  monde,  and 
has  neglected  all  the  decencies  of  society  —  how  she  often 
can"t  understand  his  strange  rhapsodies  about  poetry,  paint- 
ing, and  the  like,  nor  how  he  can  live  with  such  associates 
as  those  who  seem  to  delight  him  —  and  now  how  he  is 
showing  himself  actually  uiipriivnpled  and  abetting  his 
horrid  father ;  when  we  consider  mither  pressing  sair,  and 
all  these  points  in  mither's  favor,  I  don't  think  we  can  order 
Agnes  to  instant  execution  for  the  resolution  to  which  she 
is  coming.  She  will  give  him  up  —  she  will  give  him  up. 
Good-by,  Philip.  Good-by  the  past.  Be  forgotten,  be  for- 
gotten, fond  words  spoken  m  not  unwilling  ears  !  Be  still 
and  breathe  not,  eager  lips,  that  have  trembled  so  near  to 
one  another  I  Unlock,  hands,  and  part  forever,  that  seemed 
to  be  formed  for  life's  long  journey  !  Ah,  to  part  forever 
is  hard ;  but  harder  and  more  humiliating  still  to  part  with- 
out regret. 

That  papa  and  mamma  had  influenced  ^liss  Tw^^sden  in 
her  behavior  my  wife  and  I  could  easily  imagine,  when 
Philip,  in  his  wrath  and  grief,  came  to  us  and  poured  out 
the  feelings  of  his  heart.  My  wife  is  a  repository  of  men's 
secrets,  an  untiring  consoler  and  comforter  ;  and  she  knows 
many  a  sad  story  which  we  are  not  at  liberty  to  tell,  like 
this  one  of  which  this  person,  Mr.  Firmin,  has  given  us 
possession. 

•'  Father  and  mother's  orders,'^  shouts  Philip,  "  T  dare  say, 
Mrs.  Pendennis ;  but  the  wish  was  father  to  the  thought  of 
parting,  and  it  was  for  the  blackamoor's  parks  and  acres 
that  the  girl  jilted  me.  Look  here.  I  told  you  just  now 
that  I  slept  perfectly  well  on  that  infernal  night  after  I  had 
said   farewell  to  her.     Well,   I  didn't.      It  was  a  lie.     I 


298  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

walked  ever  so  many  times  tlie  wliole  leiigtli  of  the  cliff, 
from  Hove  to  Rottingdean  almost,  and  then  went  to  bed 
afterwards,  and  slept  a  little,  out  of  sheer  fatigue.  And  as 
I  was  passing  by  Horizontal  Terrace  ( — I  happened  to  pass 
by  there  two  or  three  times  in  the  moonlight,  like  a  great 
jackass — )  you  know  those  verses  of  mine  which  I  have 
hummed  here  sometimes  ? "  (hummed !  he  used  to  roar 
them ! )  " '  When  the  locks  of  burnished  gold,  lady,  shall 
to  silver  turn ! '  ISTever  mind  the  rest.  You  know  the 
verses  about  fidelity  and  old  age  ?  She  was  singing  them 
on  that  night,  to  that  negro.  And  I  heard  the  beggar's 
voice  say   '  Bravo  ! '  through  the  open  windows." 

"  Ah,  Philip !  it  was  cruel,"  says  my  wife,  heartily  pity- 
ing our  friend's  anguish  and  misfortune.  "  It  was  cruel 
indeed.  I  am  sure  we  can  feel  for  you.  But  think  what 
certain  misery  a  marriage  with  such  a  person  would  have 
been !  Think  of  your  warm  heart  given  away  forever  to 
that  heartless  creature." 

"Laura,  Laura,  have  you  not  often  warned  me  not  to 
speak  ill  of  people  ?  "  says  Laura's  husband. 

"  I  can't  help  it  sometimes,"  cries  Laura  in  a  transport. 
"  I  try  and  do  my  best  not  to  speak  ill  of  my  neighbors ; 
but  the  worldliness  of  those  people  shocks  me  so  that  I 
can't  bear  to  be  near  them.  They  are  so  utterly  tied  and 
bound  by  conventionalities,  so  perfectly  convinced  of  their 
own  excessive  high-breeding,  that  they  seem  to  me  more 
odious  and  more  vulgar  than  quite  low  people;  and  I'm 
sure  Mr.  Philip's  friend,  the  Little  Sister,  is  infinitely  more 
lady-like  than  his  dreary  aunt  or  either  of  his  supercilious 
cousins ! "  Upon  my  word,  Avhen  this  lady  did  speak  her 
mind,  there  was  no  mistaking  her  meaning. 

I  believe  Mr.  Firmin  took  a  considerable  number  of 
people  into  his  confidence  regarding  this  love-affair.  He  is 
one  of  those  individuals  who  can't  keep  their  secrets;  and 
when  hurt  he  roars  so  loudly  that  all  his  friends  can  hear. 
It  has  been  remarked  that  the  sorrows  of  such  persons  do 
not  endure  very  long ;  nor  surely  was  there  any  great  need 
in  this  instance  that  Philip's  heart  should  wear  a  lengthened 
mourning.  Ere  long  he  smoked  his  pipes,  he  pla^^ed  his 
billiards,  he  shouted  his  songs ;  he  rode  in  the  Park  for  the 
pleasure  of  severely  cutting  his  aunt  and  cousins  when 
their  open  carriage  passed,  or  of  riding  down  Ca])tain 
Woolcomb  or  his  cousin  Eingwood,  should  either  of  those 
worthies  come  in  his  way. 


O.Y  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        299 

One  day,  when  the  okl  Lord  Riugwood  came  to  town  for 
his  accustomed  spring  visit,  Philip  condescended  to  wait 
upon  him,  and  was  announced  to  his  lordship  just  as 
Talbot  Twj-sden  and  Kingwood  his  son  were  taking  leave 
of  their  noble  kinsman.  Philip  looked  at  them  with  a 
flashing  eye  and  a  distended  nostril,  according  to  his  swag- 
gering wont.  I  dare  say  they  on  their  part  bore  a  very 
mean  and  hang-dog  appearance  ;  for  my  lord  laughed  at 
their  discomhture,  and  seemed  immensely  amused  as  they 
slunk  out  of  the  door  when  Philip  came  hectoring  in. 

"  So,  sir,  there  has  been  a  family  row.  Heard  all  about 
it :  at  least,  their  side.  Your  father  did  me  the  favor  to 
marry  my  niece,  having  another  wife  already  ! " 

''Having  no  other  wife  already,  sir  —  though  my  dear 
relations  were  anxious  to  show  that  he  had." 

"  Wanted  your  money ;  thirty  thousand  pound  is  not  a 
trifle.  Ten  thousand  apiece  for  those  children.  And  no 
more  need  of  any  confounded  pinching  and  scraping,  as  they 
have  to  do  at  Beaunash  Street.  Aflair  off"  between  you  and 
Agnes  !     Absurd  affair.     So  much  the  better." 

"  Yes,  sir,  so  much  the  better." 

'-  Have  ten  thousand  apiece.  Would  have  twenty  thou- 
sand if  the}^  got  yours.     Quite  natural  to  want  it." 

"  Quite." 

''  Woolcomb  a  sort  of  negro,  I  understand.  Pine  prop- 
erty here :  besides  the  West  India  rubbish.     Violent  man 

—  so  people  tell  me.  Luckily  Agnes  seems  a  cool,  easy- 
going woman,  and  must  put  up  with  the  rough  as  well  as 
the  smooth  in  marrying  a  property  like  that.  Very  lucky 
for  you  that  that  woman  persists  there  was  no  marriage 
with  your  father.  Twysden  says  the  doctor  bribed  her. 
Take  it  he's  not  got  much  money  to  bribe  unless  you  gave 
some  of  3^ours." 

^'  I  don't  bribe  people  to  bear  false  witness,  my  lord  — 
and  if  —  " 

"  Don't  be  in  a  huff ;  I  didn't  say  so.     Twysden  says  so 

—  perhaps  thinks  so.  When  people  are  at  law  they  believe 
anything  of  one  another." 

"  I  don't  know  what  other  people  may  (Jo,  sir.  If  I  had 
another  man's  money,  I  should  not  be  easy  until  I  had  paid 
him  back.  Had  mv  share  of  my  grandfather's  property  not 
been  lawfully  mine  — and  for  a  few  hours  I  thought  it  was 
not  —  please"^  God,  I  would  have  given  it  up  to  its  rightful 
owners  —  at  least,  my  father  would." 


300  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

"  Why,  hang  it  all,  man,  3'ou  don't  mean  to  say  your 
father  has  not  settled  with  you  ?  " 

Philip  blushed  a  little.  He  had  been  rather  surprised 
that  there  had  been  no  settlement  between  him  and  his 
father. 

"I  am  only  of  age  a  few  months,  sir.  I  am  not  under 
any  apprehension.  I  get  my  dividends  regularly  enough. 
One  of  my  grandfather's  trustees,  General  Baynes,  is  in 
India.  He  is  to  return  almost  immediately,  or  we  should 
have  sent  a  power  of  attorney  out  to  him.  There's  no 
hurry  about  the  business." 

Philip's  maternal  grandfather,  and  Lord  Ring  wood's 
brother,  the  late  Colonel  Philip  Ringwood,  had  died 
possessed  of  but  trifling  property  of  his  own  ;  but  his  wife 
had  brought  him  a  fortune  of  sixty  thousand  pounds,  which 
Avas  settled  on  their  children,  and  in  the  names  of  trustees 
—  Mr.  Briggs,  a  lawyer,  and  Colonel  Baynes,  an  East  India 
officer,  and  friend  of  Mrs.  Philip  Ring  wood's  family. 
Colonel  Baynes  had  been  in  England  some  eight  years 
before ;  and  Philip  remembered  a  kind  old  gentleman 
coming  to  see  him  at  school,  and  leaving  tokens  of  his 
bounty  behind.  The  other  trustee,  Mr.  Briggs,  a  lawyer  of 
considerable  county  reputation,  was  dead  long  since,  having 
left  his  affairs  in  an  involved  condition.  During  the 
trustee's  absence  and  the  son's  minority,  Philip's  father 
received  the  dividends  on  his  son's  property,  and  liberally 
spent  them  on  the  boy.  Indeed,  I  believe  that  for  some 
little  time  at  college,  and  during  his  first  journeys  abroad, 
Mr.  Philip  spent  rather  more  than  the  income  of  his 
maternal  inheritance,  being  freely  supplied  by  his  father, 
who  told  him  not  to  stint  himself.  He  was  a  sumptuous 
man,  Dr.  Firmin  —  open-handed  —  subscribing  to  many 
charities  —  a  lover  of  solemn  good  cheer.  The  doctor's 
dinners  and  the  doctor's  equipages  were  models  in  their  way ; 
and  I  remember  the  sincere  respect  with  which  my  uncle 
the  ^lajor  (the  family  guide  in  such  matters)  used  to  speak 
of  Dr.  Firmin's  taste.  "  No  duchess  in  London,  sir,"  he 
would  say,  ''drove  better  horses  than  Mrs.  Firmin.  Sir 
George  Warrinder,  sir,  could  not  give  a  better  dinner,  sir, 
than  that  to  which  we  sat  down  yesterday."  And  for  the 
exercise  of  these  civic  virtues  the  doctor  had  the  hearty 
respect  of  the  good  Major. 

"  Don't  tell  me,  sir,"  on  the  other  hand,  Lord  Ringwood 
would  say  ;  "  I  dined  with  the  fellow  once  —  a  swaggering 


ox  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        301 

fellow,  sir;  but  a  servile  fellow.  The  Avay  lie  bowed  and 
flattered  was  perfectly  absurd.  Those  fellows  think  we  like 
it  —  and  we  may.  Even  at  my  age,  I  like  flattery  —  any 
quantity  of  it ;  and  not  what  you  call  delicate,  but  strong, 
sir.  I  like  a  man  to  kneel  down  and  kiss  my  shoe-strings. 
I  have  my  own  opinion  of  him  afterwards,  but  that  is  what 
I  like  —  what  all  men  like ;  and  that  is  what  Firmin  gave 
in  quantities.  But  3'ou  could  see  that  his  house  was  mon- 
strously expensive.  His  dinner  was  excellent,  and  you  saw 
it  was  good  every  day  —  not  like  your  dinners,  my  good 
Maria;  not  like  your  wines,  Twj^sden,  which,  hang  it,  I 
can't  swallow,  unless  I  send  'em  in  myself.  Even  at  my 
own  house,  I  don't  give  that  kind  of  wine  on  common  occa- 
sions which  Eirmin  used  to  give.  I  drink  the  best  myself, 
of  cou.rse,  and  give  it  to  some  who  know  ;  but  I  don't  give 
it  to  common  fellows,  who  come  to  hunting  dinners,  or  to 
girls  and  boys  who  are  dancing  at  my  balls." 

"'  Yes  ;  Mr.  Eirmin's  dinners  were  very  handsome  —  and 
a  pretty  end  came  of  the  handsome  dinners  !  "  sighed  Mrs. 
Twysden. 

'•  That's  not  the  question ;  I  am  only  speaking  about  the 
fellow's  meat  and  drink,  and  they  were  both  good.  And  it's 
my  opinion  that  fellow  will  have  a  good  dinner  wherever 
he  goes." 

I  had  the  fortune  to  be  present  at  one  of  these  feasts, 
which  Lord  Eingwood  attended,  and  at  which  I  met  Philip's 
trustee.  General  Baynes,  who  had  just  arrived  from  India. 
I  remember  now  the  smallest  details  of  the  little  dinner, — 
the  brightness  of  the  old  plate,  on  which  the  doctor  prided 
himself,  and  the  quiet  comfort,  not  to  say  splendor  of  the 
entertainmejit.  The  General  seemed  to  take  a  great  liking 
to  Philip,  whose  grandfather  had  been  his  special  friend 
and  comrade  in  arms.  He  thought  he  saw  something  of 
Philip  Eingwood  in  Philip  Eirmin's  face. 

"  Ah,  indeed  ! "  growls  Lord  Eingwood. 

"  You  ain't  a  bit  like  him,"  says  the  downright  General. 
"Xever  saw  a  handsomer  or  more  open-looking  fellow  than 
Philip  Eingwood." 

"  Oh  !  I  dare  say  I  looked  pretty  open  myself  forty  years 
ago,"  said  my  lord;  "now  I'm  shut,  I  suppose.  I  don't  see 
the  least  likeness  in  this  young  man  to  my  brother." 

"  That  is  some  sherry  as  old  as  the  century,"  whispers 
the  host ;  "  it  is  the  same  the  Prince  Eegent  liked  so  at  a 
Mansion  House  dinner,  five-and-twenty  years  ago." 


302  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

"  Never  knew  any  tiling  about  wine ;  was  always  tippling 
liqueurs  and  punch.  What  did  you  give  for  this  sherry, 
doctor  ?  " 

The  doctor  sighed,  and  looked  up  to  the  chandelier. 
"  Drink  it  while  it  lasts,  my  good  lord ;  but  don't  ask  me 
the  price.  The  fact  is,  I  don't  like  to  say  what  I  gave 
for  it." 

''  You  need  not  stint  yourself  in  the  price  of  sherry,  doc- 
tor," cries  the  General,  gayly ;  '^  you  have  but  one  son,  and 
he  has  a  fortune  of  his  own,  as  I  hajopen  to  know.  You 
haven't  dipped  it.  Master  Philip  ?  " 

"  I  fear,  sir,  I  may  have  exceeded  my  income  sometimes, 
in  the  last  three  years ;  but  my  father  has  helped  me." 

"  Exceeded  nine  hundred  a  year !  Upon  my  word  !  When 
I  was  a  sub,  my  friends  gave  me  hfty  pounds  a  year,  and  I 
never  was  a  shilling  in  debt !  What  are  men  coming  to 
now  ?  " 

"  If  doctors  drink  Prince  Regent's  sherry  at  ten  guineas 
a  dozen,  what  canyon  expect  of  their  sons.  General  Paynes  ?  " 
grumbles  my  lord. 

"My  father  gives  you  his  best,  my  lord,"  says  Philip, 
gayly ;  "  if  you  know  of  any  better,  he  will  get  it  for  you. 
Si  non  his  utere  mecum  !  Please  to  pass  me  that  decanter, 
Pen !  " 

I  thought  the  old  lord  did  not  seem  ill  pleased  at  the 
young  man's  freedom ;  and  now,  as  I  recall  it,  think  I  can 
remember  that  a  peculiar  silence  and  anxiety  seemed  to 
weigh  upon  our  host  —  upon  him  whose  face  was  commonly 
so  anxious  and  sad. 

The  famous  sherry,  which  had  made  many  voyages  to 
Indian  climes  before  it  acquired  its  exquisite  flavor,  had 
travelled  some  three  or  four  times  round  the  doctor's  pol- 
ished table  when  Price,  his  man,  entered  with  a  letter  on 
his  silver  tray.  Perhaps  Philip's  eyes  and  mine  exchanged 
glances  in  Avhich  ever  so  small  a  scintilla  of  mischief  might 
sparkle.  The  doctor  often  had  letters  when  he  was  enter- 
taining his  friends;  and  his  patients  had  a  knack  of  falling 
ill  at  awkward  times. 

"  Gracious  heavens  !  "  cries  the  doctor,  when  he  read  the 
despatch  — it  was  a  telegraphic  message.  "  The  poor  Grand 
Duke ! " 

"  What  Grand  Duke  ? "  asks  the  surly  lord  of  Eing- 
wood. 

"  My  earliest  patron  and  friend  —  the   Grand  Duke   of 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH  THE    WORLD.        303 

Groningen  !  Seized  this  morning  at  eleven  at  Putzendorff ! 
Has  sent  for  me.  I  promised  to  go  to  him  if  ever  he  had 
need  of  me.  I  must  go !  I  can  save  the  night-train  yet. 
General !  our  visit  to  the  City  must  be  deferred  till  my  re- 
turn. Get  a  portmanteau,  Brice ;  and  call  a  cab  at  once. 
Philip  will  entertain  my  friends  for  the  evening.  My  dear 
lord,  you  won't  mind  an  old  doctor  leaving  you  to  attend  an 
old  patient  ?  I  will  write  from  Groningen.  I  shall  be 
there  on  Friday  morning.  Farewell,  gentlemen!  Brice, 
another  bottle  of  that  sherry !  I  pra}',  don't  let  anybody 
stir  !  God  bless  you,  Philip,  my  boy  !  "  And  with  this  the 
doctor  went  up,  took  his  son  by  the  hand,  and  laid  the  other 
very  kindly  on  the  young  man's  shoulder.  Then  he  made  a 
bow  round  the  table  to  his  guests  —  one  of  his  graceful 
bows,  for  which  he  w^as  famous.  I  can  see  the  sad  smile 
on  his  face  now,  and  the  light  from  the  chandelier  over 
the  dining-table  glancing  from  his  shining  forehead,  and 
casting  deep  shadows  on  to  his  cheek  from  his  heavy 
brows. 

The  departure  was  a  little  abrupt,  and  of  course  cast 
somewhat  of  a  gloom  upon  the  company. 

"  My  carriage  ain't  ordered  till  ten  —  must  go  on  sitting 
here,  I  suppose.  Confounded  life  doctors'  must  be  !  Called 
up  any  hour  in  the  night !  Get  their  fees  !  Must  go !  " 
growled  the  great  man  of  the  part}^ 

"  People  are  glad  enough  to  have  them  when  they  are  ill, 
my  lord.  I  think  I  have  heard  that  once  when  you  were  at 
Ryde  ..." 

The  great  man  started  back  as  if  a  littLe  shock  of  cold 
water  had  fallen  on  him ;  and  then  looked  at  Philip  with 
not  unfriendly  glances.  "  Treated  for  gout  —  so  he  did. 
Very  well,  too  !  '*  said  my  lord ;  and  whispered,  not  in- 
audibly,  "  Cool  hand,  that  boy  ! "  And  then  his  lordship 
fell  to  talk  with  General  Baynes  about  his  campaigning, 
and  his  early  acquaintance  with  his  own  brother,  Philip's 
grandfather. 

The  general  did  not  care  to  brag  about  his  own  feats  of 
arms,  but  was  loud  in  praises  of  his  old  comrade.  Philip 
was  pleased  to  hear  his  grandsire  so  well  spoken  of.  The 
General  had  known  Dr.  Firmin's  father  also,  who  likewise 
had  been  a  colonel  in  the  famous  old  Peninsular  army.  "A 
Tartar  that  fellow  was,  and  no  mistake  ! "  said  the  good 
officer.  "  Your  father  has  a  strong  look  of  him  ;  and  you 
have  a  glance  of  him  at  times.     But  you  remind  me  of 


304  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

Philip  llingwood  not  a  little;  and  you  could  not  belong  to 
a  better  man." 

"  Ha  !  "  says  my  lord.  There  had  been  differences  between 
him  and  his  brother.  He  may  have  been  thinking  of  days 
when  they  were  friends.  Lord  Ringwood  now  graciously 
asked  if  General  Baynes  was  staying  in  London.  But  the 
G-eneral  had  only  come  to  do  this  piece  of  business,  which 
must  now  be  dela3^ed.  He  was  too  poor  to  live  in  London. 
He  must  look  out  for  a  country  place,  where  he  and  his  six 
children  could  live  cheaply.  "  Three  boys  at  school,  and  one 
at  college,  Mr.  Philip  —  you  know  what  that  must  cost ; 
though,  thank  my  stars,  my  college  boy  does  not  spend  nine 
hundred  a  year.  Nine  hundred !  Where  should  we  be  if 
he  did  ?  '^  In  fact,  the  days  of  nabobs  are  long  over,  and 
the  General  had  come  back  to  his  native  country  with  only 
very  small  means  for  the  support  of  a  great  family. 

AVlien  my  lord's  carriage  came,  he  departed,  and  the  other 
guests  presently  took  their  leave.  The  General,  who  was  a 
bachelor  for  the  nonce,  remained  awhile,  and  we  three  j)rat- 
tled  over  cheroots  in  Philip's  smoking-room.  It  was  a  night 
like  a  hundred  I  have  spent  there,  and  yet  how  well  I  re- 
member it !  We  talked  about  Philip's  future  prospects,  and 
he  communicated  his  intentions  to  us  in  his  lordly  way.  As 
for  practising  at  the  bar :  "  No,  sir,"  he  said,  in  rej^ly  to 
General  Baynes's  queries,  "  he  should  not  make  much  hand 
of  that ;  shouldn't  if  he  were  ever  so  poor.  He  had  his 
own  money,  and  his  father's  ; "  and  he  condescended  to  say 
that  ''  he  might,  perhaps,  try  for  Parliament  should  an  eli- 
gible opportunity  offer."  "Here's  a  fellow  born  with  a 
silver  spoon  in  his  mouth,"  says  the  General,  as  we  walked 
away  together.  "  A  fortune  to  begin  with  ;  a  fortune  to  in- 
herit. My  fortune  was  two  thousand  pounds,  and  the  price 
of  my  two  first  commissions ;  and  when  I  die  my  children 
will  not  be  quite  so  well  off  as  their  father  was  when  he 
began ! " 

Having  parted  with  the  old  officer  at  his  modest  sleeping 
qTiarters  near  his  club,  I  walked  to  my  own  home,  little 
thinking  that  yonder  cigar,  of  which  I  had  shaken  some  of 
the  ashes  in  Philip's  smoking-room,  Avas  to  be  the  last 
tobacco  I  ever  should  smoke  there.  The  pipe  was  smoked 
out.  The  wine  was  drunk.  When  that  door  closed  on  me, 
it  closed  for  the  last  time  —  at  least  was  never  more  to 
admit  me  as  Philip's,  as  Dr.  Pirmin's,  guest  and  friend.  I 
pass  the  i^lace  often  now.     INIy  youth  comes  back  to  me  as  I 


ox  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WOULD.        305 

gaze  at  those  blank,  shining  windows.  I  see  myself  a  boy 
and  Philip  a  child  ;  and  his  fair  mother ;  and  his  father,  the 
hospitable,  the  melancholy,  the  magnificent.  I  wish  I  could 
have  helped  him.  I  wish  somehow  he  had  borrowed  money. 
He  never  did.  He  gave  ine  his  often.  I  have  never 
seen  him  since  that  night  when  his  own  door  closed  upon 
him. 

On  the  second  day  after  the  doctor's  departure,  as  I  was 
at  breakfast  with  my  family,  I  received  the  following 
letter :  — 

"My  dear  Pexdkxxis,  —  Could  I  have  seen  you  in  private  on 
Tuesilay  ni2;ht,  I  might  have  warned  you  of  the  calamity  which  Avas 
hanging  over  my  house,  liut  to  what'  good  end  ?  That  you  sliould 
know  a  lew  weeks,  hoiu-s,  before  Avliat  all  the  world  Avill  ring  with 
to-morrow  ?  >^either  you  nor  1,  nor  one  whom  we  both  love,  would 
have  been  the  happier  for  knowing  my  misfortunes  a  few  hours 
sooner.  In  four-and-twenty  hours  every  club  in  London  will  be 
busy  with  talk  of  the  departure  of  the  celebrated  Dr.  Firmin — the 
wealthy  Dr.  Firmin;  a  few  months  more  and  (I  have  strict  and  con- 
fidnitkd  reason  to  believe)  hereditary  rank  would  have  been  mine, 
but  Sir  George  Finnin  would  have  been  an  insolvent  man,  and  his 
son  Sir  Philip  a  beggar.  Perhaps  the  thought  of  this  honor  has  been 
one  of  the  reasons  which  has  determined  me  on  expatriating  mj^self 
sooner  than  I  otherwise  needed  to  have  done. 

"  George  Firmin,  the  honored,  the  wealthy  physician,  and  his  son  a 
beggar?  I  see  you  are  startled  at  the  news  !  You  wonder  how.  with 
a  great  practice,  and  no  great  ostensible  expenses,  such  ruin  should 
have  come  upon  me  —  upon  him.  It  has  seemed  as  if  for  years 
past  Fate  has  been  determined  to  make  war  upon  George  Brand 
Firmin  ;  and  who  can  battle  against  Fate  ?  A  man  universally  ad- 
mitted to  be  of  good  judgment,  1  have  embarked  in  mercantile  specu- 
lations the  most  promising.  Everything  upon  which  I  laid  my  hand 
has  crumbled  to  ruin ;  but  I  can  say  with  the  Koman  bard,  '  Impuvidiiiii 
ferient  ruince.''  And,  almost  penniless,  almost  aged,  an  exile  driven 
from  my  country,  I  seek  another  where  I  do  not  despair  —  /  evoi  have 
n^finn  hcllf^f  tha.t  I  shall  be  enabled  to  repair  my  shattered  fortunes! 
My  race  lias  never  been  deficient  in  courage,  and  Philip  and  PJtiliji^s 
father  must  use  all  theirs,  so  as  to  be  enabled  to  face  the  dark  times 
which  menace  them.  Si  celeres  quat'it  pennas  Fortiina,  we  must 
resign  what  she  gave  us,  and  bear  our  calamity  with  unshaken  hearts! 

"There  is  a  man,  I  own  to  you,  whom  I  cannot.  I  nuist  not  face. 
General  Baynes  has  just  come  from  India,  with  but  very  small  sav- 
ings, I  fear;  and  these  are  jeopardized  by  his  imprudence  and  my 
most  cruel  and  unexpected  misfortune.  1  need  not  tell  you  that  in}/ 
nil  would  have  been  my  boy's.  My  will,  made  long  since,  will  be 
found  in  the  tortoise-shell  secretaire  standing  in  my  consulting-room 
imder  the  picture  of  Abraham  offering  up  Isaac.  In  it  you  will  see 
that  everything  except  annuities  to  old  and  deserving  servants  and  a 
legacy  to  one  excellent  and  faithful  won)an  whom  I  own  I  have 
wronged  —  my  all,  Avhich  once  was  considerable,  /.s  left  to  my  boy. 

"  I  am  nowMvortli  less  than  nothing,  and  have  compromised  Philip's 

VOL.   I.  —  20 


306  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 

property  along  with  my  own.  As  a  man  of  business,  General  Baynes, 
Colonel  lUng\vood"s  old  companion  in  arms,  was  culpably  careless, 
and  I, — alas!  that  I  must  own  it  — deceived  him.  Being  the  only 
surviving  trustee  (Mrs.  Bhillp  Kingwood's  other  trustee  was  an  un- 
principled attorney  who  has  been  long  deatl),  General  B.  signed  a 
paper  authorizing,  as  he  imagined,  my  bankers  to  receive  Philip's 
dividends,  but,  in  fact,  giving  me  the  power  to  dispose  of  the  capital 
sum.  On  my  honor,  as  a  man,  as  a  gentleman,  as  a  father,  Penden- 
nis,  I  hoped  to  replace  it  !  1  took  it;  I  embarked  it  in  speculations 
in  which  it  sank  down  with  ten  times  the  amount  of  my  own  private 
property.  Half-year  after  half-year,  with  straitened  means  and  with 
the  greatest  difficulti/  to  myself,  my  poor  boy  has  had  his  dividend; 
and  he  at  least  has  never  known  wluit  was  want  or  anxiety  until  now% 
Want  ?  Anxiety  ?  Pray  Heaven  he  never  may  suffer  the  sleepless 
anguish,  the  racking  care  which  has  pursued  me  !  '  Post  equltein  sedet 
atra  cura,'  our  favorite  poet  says.  Ah  !  how  truly,  too,  does  he  re- 
mark, '  Patrice  qiiis  exal  se  quoque  fii[iitf^  Think  you  where  I  go 
grief  and  remorse  will  not  follow  me  ?  They  will  never  leave  me 
until  I  shall  return  to  this  comitry  — for  that  1  shall  return,  my  heart 
tells  me — until  I  can  reimburse  General  Baynes,  who  stands  indebted 
to  Philip  through  his  incautiousness  and  my  overpowering  necessity; 
and  my  heart— an  erriu'^  but  fond  father's  heart — tells  me  that  my 
boy  will  not  eventually  lose  a  penny  by  my  misfortune, 

''  I  own,  between  ourselves,  that  this  illness  of  the  Grand  Duke  of 
Groningen  was  a  pretext  wdiich  I  put  forward.  You  will  hear  of  me 
ere  long  from  the  place  wdiither  for  some  time  past  I  have  determined 
on  bending  my  steps.  I  placed  lOOL  on  Saturday,  to  Philip's  credit, 
at  his  banker's.  I  take  little  more  than  that  sum  with  me;  depressed, 
yet  full  of  hope;  having  done  wrong,  yet  determined  to  retrieve  it, 
and  vowing  tliat  ere  I  die  my  poor  boy  shall  not  have  to  blush  at 
bearing  the  name  of  .  Geokge  Bjiaxd  Fiijmin. 

"Good-by,  dear  Philip  !  Your  old  friend  wdll  tell  you  of  my  mis- 
fortunes. When  I  write  again,  it  wdll  be  to  tell  you  wdiere  to  address 
me:  and  wdierever  I  am,  or  whatever  misfortunes  oppress  me,  think 
of  me  always  as  your  fond  Fathek.'^ 

I  had  scarce  read  this  awful  letter  when  Philip  Firmin 
himself  came  into  our  breakfast-room  looking  very  much 
disturbed. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

SAMARITANS. 

HE  children  trotted  up  to 
their  friend  with  out- 
stretched hands  and  their 
usual  suiiles  of  welcome. 
Philip  patted  their  heads, 
and  sat  down  with  very 
woebegone  aspect  at 
the  family  table.  "Ah, 
friends,"  said  he,  "do 
you  know  all?" 

"Yes,    we     do,"     said 
Laura,    sadly,    who   has 
ever  compassion  for  oth- 
ers' misfortunes. 
"What  I    is  it  all  over  the  town  already?"  asked  poor. 
Philip. 

"We  have  a  letter  from  your  father  this  morning." 
And  Ave  brought  the  letter  to  him,  and  showed  him  the 
affectionate  special  message  for  himself. 

"His  last  thought  was  for  you,  Philip!"  cries  Laura. 
"  See  here,  those  last  kind  words  !  " 

Philip  shook  his  head.  "  It  is  not  untrue,  what  is  writ- 
ten here :  but  it  is  not  all  the  truth."  And  Phili])  Firmin 
dismayed  us  by  the  intelligence  which  he  proceeded  to  give. 
There  was  an  execution  in  the  house  in  Old  Parr  Street. 
A  hundred  clamorous  creditors  had  already  a]:)peared  there. 
Before  going  away,  the  doctor  had  taken  considerable  sums 
from  those  dangerous  liuanciers  to  whom  he  had  been  of 
late  resorting.  They  were  in  possession  of  numberless 
lately  signed  bills,  upon  which  the  desperate  man  had 
raised  money.  He  had  professed  to  share  with  Philip, 
but  he  had  taken  the  great  share,  and  left  Philip  two  hun- 
dred pounds  of  his  own  money.  All  the  rest  was  gone. 
All  Philip's  stock  had  been  sold  out.     The  father's  fraud 

307 


308  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

had  made  liini  master  of  the  trustee's  signature  :  and  Philip 
Firmin,  reputed  to  be  so  wealthy,  was  a  beggar  in  my  room. 
Luckily  he  had  few,  or  very  tritiing  debts.  Mr.  Philip  had 
a  lordly  impatience  of  indebtedness,  and,  with  a  good 
bachelor-income,  had  paid  for  all  his  pleasures  as  he 
enjoyed   them. 

Well !  he  must  work.  A  young  man  ruined  at  two-and- 
twenty,  with  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds  yet  in  his  pocket, 
hardly  knows  that  he  is  ruined.  He  Avill  sell  his  horses  — ■ 
live  in  chambers  —  has  enough  to  go  on  for  a  year.  "  AVhen 
1  am  very  hard  put  to  it,"  says  Philip,  "  I  will  come  and 
dine  with  the  children  at  one.  I  dare  say  you  haven't 
dined  much  at  AYilliams's  in  the  Old  Bailey  ?  You  can  get 
a  famous  dinner  there  for  a  shilling  —  beef,  bread,  potatoes, 
beer,  and  a  penny  for  the  waiter."  Yes,  Philip  seemed 
actually  to  enjoy  his  discomfiture.  It  was  long  since  we 
had  seen  him  in  such  spirits.  "  The  weight  is  oif  my  mind 
now.  It  has  been  throttling  me  for  some  time  past.  With- 
out understanding  why  or  wherefore,  I  have  always  been 
looking  out  for  this.  My  poor  father  had  ruin  written  in 
his  face :  and  when  those  bailiffs  made  their  appearance  in 
Old  Parr  Street  yesterday,  I  felt  as  if  I  had  known  them 
before.     I  had  seen  their  hooked  beaks  in  my  dreams." 

"  That  unlucky  General  Baynes,  when  he  accepted  your 
mother's  trust,  took  it  with  its  consequences.  If  the  sen- 
try falls  asleep  on  his  post,  he  must  pay  the  penalty,"  says 
Mr.  Pendennis,  very  severely. 

"  Great  powers,  you  would  not  have  me  come  down  upon 
an  old  man  with  a  large  family,  and  ruin  them  all  ?  "  cries 
Philip. 

"  ]Sro :  I  don't  think  Philip  will  do  that,"  says  my  wife, 
looking  exceedingly  pleased. 

"  If  men  accept  Vusts  they  must  fulfil  them,  my  dear," 
cries  the  master  of  the  house. 

"  And  I  must  make  that  old  gentleman  suffer  for  my 
father's  wrong  ?  If  I  do,  may  I  starve  !  there ! "  cries 
Philip. 

"  And  so  that  poor  Little  Sister  has  made  her  sacrifice  in 
vain !  "  sighed  my  wife.  "  As  for  the  father  —  oh,  Arthur  ! 
I  can't  tell  you  how  odious  that  man  was  to  me.  There 
was  something  dreadful  about  him.  And  in  his  manner  to 
women  —  oh  !  —  " 

"  If  he  had  been  a  black  draught,  my  dear,  you  could  not 
have  shuddered  more  naturally." 


Oy  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        309 

"  Well,  he  was  horrible  ;  and  I  know  Philip  will  be  bet- 
ter now  he  is  gone." 

Women  often  make  light  of  ruin.  Give  them  but  the 
beloved  objects,  and  poverty  is  a  trifling  sorrow  to  bear. 
As  for  Philip,  he,  as  we  have  said,  is  gayer  than  he  has  been 
for  years  past.  The  doctor's  flight  occasions  not  a  little 
club  talk  :  but,  now  he  is  gone,  many  people  see  quite  well 
that  they  were  aware  of  his  insolvency,  and  always  knew 
it  must  end  so.  The  case  is  told,  is  canvassed,  is  exagger- 
ated as  such  cases  will  be.  I  dare  say  it  forms  a  week's 
talk.  But  peo^jle  know  that  poor  Philip  is  his  father's 
largest  creditor,  and  eye  the  young  man  with  no  unfriendly 
looks  when  he  comes  to  his  club  after  his  mishap,  —  with 
burning  cheeks,  and  a  tingling  sense  of  shame,  imagining 
that  all  the  world  will  point  at  and  avoid  him  as  the  guilty 
fugitive's  son. 

No :  the  world  takes  very  little  heed  of  his  misfortune. 
One  or  two  old  acquaintances  are  kinder  to  him  than  before. 
A  few  say  his  ruin,  and  his  obligation  to  work,  will  do  him 
good.  Only  a  very,  very  few  avoid  him,  and  look  uncon- 
scious as  he  passes  them  by.  Amongst  these  cold  counte- 
nances, you,  of  course,  will  recognize  the  faces  of  the  whole 
Twysden  family.  Three  statues,  with  marble  eyes,  could 
not  look  more  stony-calm  than  Aunt  Twysden  and  her  two 
daughters,  as  they  pass  in  the  stately  barouche.  The 
gentlemen  turn  red  when  they  see  Philip.  It  is  rather  late 
times  for  Uncle  Twysden  to  begin  blushing,  to  be  sure. 
"  Hang  the  fellow  I  he  will,  of  course,  be  coming  for  money. 
Dawkins,  I  am  not  at  home,  mind,  when  young  Mr.  Firmin 
calls."  So  says  Lord  Ringwood  regarding  Philip  fallen 
among  thieves.  Ah,  thanks  to  heaven,  travellers  find 
Samaritans  as  well  as  Levites  on  life's  hard  way !  Philip 
told  us  with  much  humor  of  a  rencontre  which  he  had  had 
with  his  cousin,  Ringwood  Twysden,  in  a  public  place. 
Tywsden  was  enjoying  himself  with  some  young  clerks  of 
his  office ;  but  as  Philip  advanced  upon  him,  assuming  his 
fiercest  scowl  and  most  hectoring  manner,  the  other  lost 
heart,  and  fled.  And  no  wonder.  "  Do  you  suppose,"  says 
Twysden,  ••  I  will  willingly  sit  in  the  same  room  with  that 
cad,  after  the  manner  in  which  he  has  treated  my  family ! 
No,  sir  !  "  And  so  the  tall  door  in  Beaunash  Street  is  to 
open  for  Philip  Finiiiii  no  niorc 

The  tall  door  in  Beaunash  Street  flies  optui  readily 
enough  for  another  gentleman.     A  splendid  cab-horse  reins 


310  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

up  before  it  every  cLay.  A  pair  of  varnished  boots  leap  out 
of  the  cab,  and  spring  up  the  broad  stairs,  where  somebody 
is  waiting  with  a  smile  of  genteel  welcome  —  the  same 
smile  —  on  the  same  sofa  —  the  same  mamma  at  her  table 
writing  her  letters.  And  beautiful  bouquets  from  Covent 
Garden  decorate  the  room.  And  after  half  an  hour  mamma 
goes  out  to  speak  to  the  housekeeper,  vous  comprenez.  And 
there  is  nothing  particularly  new  under  the  sun.  It  will 
shine  to-morrow  upon  pretty  much  the  same  flowers,  sports, 
pastimes,  &c.,  which  it  illuminated  yesterday.  And  when 
your  love-making  days  are  over,  miss,  and  you  are  married, 
and  advantageously  established,  shall  not  your  little  sisters, 
now  in  the  nursery,  trot  down  and  play  their  little  games  ? 
Would  you  on  your  conscience,  now  —  you  who  are  rather 
inclined  to  consider  Miss  Agnes  Twysden's  conduct  as 
heartless  —  would  yon,  I  say,  have  her  cry  her  pretty  eyes 
out  about  a  young  man  who  does  not  care  much  for  her,  for 
whom  she  never  did  care  much  herself,  and  who  is  now, 
moreover,  beggar,  with  a  ruined  and  disgraced  father  and  a 
doubtful  legitimacy  ?  Absurd !  That  dear  girl  is  like  a 
beautiful  fragrant  bower-room  at  the  "  Star  and  Garter  "  at 
Richmond,  with  honeysuckles  mayhap  trailing  round  the 
windoYv^s,  from  Avliich  you  behold  one  of  the  most  lovely  and 
most  pleasant  of  wood  and  river  scenes.  The  tables  are 
decorated  with  flowers,  rich  wine-cups  sparkle  on  the  board, 
and  Captain  Jones's  party  have  everything  they  can  desire. 
Their  dinner  over  and  that  company  gone,  the  same  waiters, 
the  same  flowers,  the  same  cups  and  crystals,  array  them- 
selves for  Mr.  Brown  and  liis  party.  Or,  if  you  won't  have 
Agnes  Twysden  compared  to  the  "  Star  and  Garter  Tavern," 
which  must  admit  mixed  company,  liken  her  to  the  chaste 
moon  who  shines  on  shepherds  of  all  complexions,  swarthy 
or  fair. 

When,  oppressed  by  superior  odds,  a  commander  is  forced 
to  retreat,  we  like  hiin  to  show  his  skill  by  carrying  off  his 
guns,  treasure,  and  camp  equipages.  Doctor  Firmin,  beaten 
by  fortune  and  compelled  to  fly,  showed  quite  a  splendid 
skill  and  coolness  in  his  manner  of  decamping,  and  left  the 
very  smallest  amount  of  spoils  in  the  hands  of  the  victori- 
ous enemy.  His  wines  had  been  famous  amongst  the  grave 
epicures  with  whom  he  dined :  he  used  to  boast,  like  a 
worthy  hon  v'lvant  who  knows  the  value  of  wine-conversa- 
tion after  dinner,  of  the  quantities  which  he  possessed,  and 
the  rare  bins  which  he  had  in  store :  but  when  the  execu- 


ox  HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.        311 

tioners  came  to  arrange  his  sale,  there  was  found  only  a 
beggarly  account  of  empty  bottles,  and  I  fear  some  of  the 
unprincipled  creditors  put  in  a  great  quantity  of  bad  liquor 
which  they  endeavored  to  foist  off  on  the  public  as  the 
genuine  and  carefull}^  selected  stock  of  a  well-known  con- 
noisseur. Xews  of  this  dishonest  proceeding  reached  Dr. 
Firmin  presently  in  his  retreat;  and  he  showed  by  his 
letter  a  generous  and  manly  indignation  at  the  manner  in 
which  his  creditors  had  tampered  with  his  honest  name  and 
reputation  as  a  hon  vicant.  He  have  bad  wine  !  For  shame  ! 
He  had  the  best  from  the  best  wine-merchant,  and  paid,  or 
rather  owed,  the  best  prices  for  it ;  for  of  late  3-ears  the 
doctor  had  paid  no  bills  at  all :  and  the  wdne-merchant 
appeared  in  quite  a  handsome  group  of  figures  in  his 
schedule.  In  like  manner  his  books  were  pawned  to  a  book 
auctioneer ;  and  Brice,  the  butler,  had  a  bill  of  sale  for  the 
furniture.  Firmin  retreated,  we  will  not  say  with  the 
honors  of  war,  but  as  little  harmed  as  possible  by  defeat. 
Did  the  enemy  want  the  plunder  of  his  city  ?  He  had 
smuggled  almost  all  his  valuable  goods  over  the  wall.  Did 
they  desire  his  ships  ?  He  had  sunk  them  :  and  when  at 
length  the  conquerors  poured  into  his  stronghold,  he  was 
far  beyond  the  reach  of  their  shot.  Don't  we  often  hear 
still  that  Xana  Sahib  is  alive  and  exceedingly  comfortable. 
We  do  not  love  him ;  but  Ave  can't  help  having  a  kind  of 
admiration  for  that  slippery  fugitive  who  has  escaped 
from  the  dreadful  jaws  of  tjie  lion.  In  a  Avord,  when  Fir- 
min's  furniture  came  to  be  sold,  it  was  a  marvel  how  little 
his  creditors  benefited  by  the  sale.  Contemptuous  brokers 
declared  there  never  Avas  such  a  shabby  lot  of  goods.  A 
friend  of  the  house  and  poor  Philip  bought  in  his  mother's 
picture  for  a  fcAv  guineas ;  and  as  for  the  doctor's  OAvn  state 
portrait,  I  am  afraid  it  Avent  for  a  fcAv  shillings  only,  and  in 
the  midst  of  a  roar  of  HebreAv  laughter.  I  saAv  in  War- 
dour  Street,  not  long  after,  the  doctor's  sideboard,  and  what 
dealers  cheerfulh^  call  the  sarcophagus  cellaret.  Poor  doc- 
tor !  his  Avine  Avas  all  drunken ;  his  meat  was  eaten  up ;  but 
his  own  body  had  slipped  out  of  the  reach  of  the  hook- 
beaked  birds  of  prey. 

We  had  spoken  rapidly  in  undertones,  innocently  believ- 
ing that  the  3'oung  people  round  about  us  Avere  taking  no 
heed  of  our  talk.  P)ut  in  a  lull  of  the  couA^ersation,  Mr. 
Pendennis  junior,  Avho  had  ahvays  been  a  friend  to  Philip, 
broke  out  Avith  —  "Philip!  if  you  are  so  re?'y  poor,  you'll 


312  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

be  laiiigry,  3^ou  know,  and  3^011  may  have  m}^  piece  of  bread 
and  jam.  And  I  don't  want  it,  mamma,"  lie  added;  "and 
you  know  Philip  has  often  and  often  given  me  things." 

Philip  stooped  down  and  kissed  this  good  little  Samari- 
tan. "I'm  not  hungry,  Arty,  m^'  boy,"  he  said;  '-and  I'm 
not  so  poor  but  I  have  got  —  look  here  —  a  line  new  shil- 
ling for  Arty !  " 

"  Oh,  Philip,  Philip  ! "  cried  mamma. 

"  Don't  take  the  money,  Arthur,"  cried  papa. 

And  the  boy,  with  a  rueful  face  but  a  manly  heart,  pre- 
pared to  give  back  the  coin.  "  It's  quite  a  new  one ;  and 
it's  a  very  pretty  one :  but  I  won't  have  it,  Philip,  thank 
you,"  he  said,  turning  very  red. 

"  If  he  won't,  I  vow  I  will  give  it  to  the  cabman,"  said 
Philip. 

"Keeping  a  cab  all  this  while?  Oh,  Philip,  Philip!" 
again  cries  mamma,  the  economist. 

"Loss  of  time  is  loss  of  money,  my  dear  lady,"  says 
Philip,  very  gravely.  "  I  have  ever  so  many  places  to  go 
to.  When  I  am  set  in  for  being  ruined,  you  shall  see  what 
a  screw  I  will  become !  I  must  go  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  who 
will  be  very  uneasy,  poor  dear,  until  she  knows  the  worst." 

"  Oh,  Philip,  I  should  like  so  to  go  with  you !  "  cries 
Laura.     "  Pray,  give  her  our  very  best  regards  and  respects." 

"3Ierci/''  said  the  young  man,  and  squeezed  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis's  hand  in  his  own  big  one.  "  I  will  take  your  mes- 
sage toiler,  Laura.     J'aime  qic'on  Vainie,  savez-vous ? '^ 

"That  means,  I  love  those  who  love  her,"  cries  little 
Laura ;  "'  but  I  don't  know,"  remarked  this  little  person 
afterwards  to  her  paternal  confidant,  "  that  I  like  all  \)eo- 
ple  to  love  my  mamma.  That  is,  I  don't  like  her  to  like 
them,  papa  —  only  you  may,  papa,  and  Ethel  may,  and 
Arthur  nia}^,  and,  I  think,  Philip  may,  now  he  is  poor  and 
quite,  quite  alone  —  and  we  will  take  care  of  him,  won't 
we  ?  And,  I  think  I'll  buy  him  something  with  my  money 
which  Aunt  Ethel  gave  me." 

"And  I'll  giv^e  him  my  money,"  cries  a  boy. 

"And  I'll  div  him  my  —  my  —  "  Pslia  !  what  matters 
what  the  little  sweet  lips  prattled  in  their  artless  kindness? 
But  the  soft  words  of  love  and  pity  smote  the  mother's 
heart  with  an  exquisite  pang  of  gratitude  and  joy ;  and  I 
know  where  her  thanks  were  paid  for  those  tender  words 
and  thouc^Iits  of  her  little  ones. 

Mrs.  Pendennis  made  Philip  promise  to  come  to  dinner, 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        313 

and  also  to  remember  not  to  take  a  cab  —  ^vliieli  promise 
Mr.  Firmin  had  not  much  difficult}^  in  executing,  for  he 
had  but  a  few  hundred  yards  to  walk  across  the  Park  from 
his  club ;  and  I  must  say  that  my  wife  took  a  special  care 
of  our  dinner  that  day,  preparing  for  Philip  certain  dishes 
which  she  knew  he  liked,  and  enjoining  the  butler  of  the 
establishment  (who  also  happened  to  be  the  owner  of  the 
house)  to  fetch  from  his  cellar  the  very  choicest  wine  in 
his  possession. 

I  have  previously  described  our  friend  and  his  boisterous, 
impetuous,  generous  nature.  When  Philip  was  moved,  he 
called  to  all  the  world  to  witness  his  emotion.  When  he 
was  angry,  his  enemies  were  all  the  rogues  and  scoundrels 
in  the  world.  He  vowed  he  would  have  no  mercy  on  them, 
and  desired  all  his  acquaintances  to  participate  in  his  anger. 
How  could  such  an  open-mouthed  son  have  had  such  a  close- 
spoken  father  ?  I  dare  say  you  have  seen  very  well-bred 
young  people,  the  children  of  vulgar  and  ill-bred  parents ; 
the  swaggering  father  have  a  silent  son  ;  the  loud  mother  a 
modest  daughter.  Our  friend  is  not  Amadis  or  Sir  Charles 
Grandison  ;  and  I  don't  set  him  up  for  a  moment  as  a  per- 
son to  be  revered  or  imitated ;  but  try  to  draw  him  faith- 
fully and  as  nature  made  him.  As  nature  made  him,  so  he 
was.  I  don't  think  he  tried  to  improve  himself  much. 
Perhaps  few  people  do.  They  suppose  they  do :  and  you 
read,  in  ajjologetic  memoirs,  and  fond  biographies,  how  this 
man  cured  his  bad  temper,  and  t'other  worked  and  strove 
until  he  grew  to  be  almost  faultless.  Very  well  and  good, 
my  good  people.  You  can  learn  a  language ;  you  can  mas- 
ter a  science ;  I  have  heard  of  an  old  squaretoes  of  sixty 
who  learned,  by  study  and  intense  application,  very  satis- 
factorily to  dance ;  but  can  you,  by  taking  thought,  add  to 
your  moral  stature?  Ah  me!  the  doctor  who  preaches  is 
only  taller  than  most  of  us  by  the  height  of  the  pulpit :  and 
when  he  steps  down,  I  dare  say  he  cringes  to  the  duchess, 
growls  at  his  children,  scolds  his  wife  about  the  dinner. 
All  is  vanit}^,  look  you :  and  so  the  preacher  is  vanity,  too. 

Well,  then,  I  must  again  say  that  Philip  roared  his  griefs  : 
he  shouted  his  laughter  :  he  bellowed  his  applause  :  he  was 
extravagant  in  his  humility  as  in  his  pride,  in  his  admiration 
of  his  friends  and  contempt  for  his  enemies :  I  dare  say  not 
a  just  man,  but  I  have  met  juster  men  not  half  so  honest; 
and  certainly  not  a  faultless  man,  though  I  know  better 
men  not  near  so  good.     So,  I  believe,  my  Avif e  thinks :  else 


314 


THE   ADVENTURES    OF  PHILIP 


why  should  she  be  so  fond  of  him  ?  Did  we  not  know  boys 
who  never  Avent  out  of  bounds,  and  never  were  Late  for 
school,  and  never  made  a  false  concord  or  quantity,  and 
never  came  under  the  ferule ;  and  others  who  were  always 
playing  truant,  aiid   blundering,  and  being  whipped;  and 


ox  HIS'  WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        315 

yet,  somehow,  was  not  jMaster  jSTaughtyboy  better  liked 
than  Master  Goodchikl  ?  AVhen  Master  Naughtyboy  came 
to  dine  with  us  on  the  tirst  day  of  his  ruin  he  bore  a  face  of 
radiant  happiness  —  he  houghed,  he  bounced  about,  he 
caressed  the  children ;  now  he  took  a  couple  on  his  knees  ; 
now  he  tossed  the  baby  to  the  ceiling;  now  he  sprawled 
over  a  sofa,  and  now  he  rode  upon  a  chair;  never  was  a 
penniless  gentleman  more  cheerful.  As  for  his  dinner, 
Phil's  appetite  was  always  fine,  but  on  this  day  an  ogre 
could  scarcely  play  a  more  terrible  knife  and  fork.  He 
asked  for  more  and  more,  until  his  entertainers  wondered 
to  behold  him.  "  Dine  for  to-day  and  to-morrow  too  ;  can't 
expect  such  fare  as  this  every  day,  you  know.  This  claret, 
how  good  it  is  !  Ma}"  I  pack  some  up  in  paper,  and  take  it 
home  with  me  ? "  The  children  roared  with  laughter  at 
this  admirable  idea  of  carrying  home  wine  in  a  sheet  of 
l^aper.  I  don't  know  that  it  is  always  at  the  best  jokes 
that  children  laugh  :  — children  and  wise  men  too. 

When  we  three  were  by  ourselves,  and  freed  from  the  com- 
pany of  servants  and  children,  our  friend  told  us  the  cause 
of  his  gayety.  "  By  George  ! "  he  swore,  "  it  is  worth  being 
ruined  to  find  such  good  people  in  the  world.  My  dear,  kind 
Laura "  —  here  the  gentleman  brushes  his  eyes  with  his 
fist  —  "  it  was  as  mucii  as  I  could  do  this  morning  to  prevent 
myself  from  hugging  you  in  my  arms,  you  were  so  gener- 
ous, and  —  and  so  kind,  so  tender,  and  so  good,  by  George. 
And  after  leaving  you,  where  do  you  think  I  went  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  can  guess,  Philip,"  says  Laura. 

"  Well,"  says  Philip,  winking  his  eyes  again,  and  tossing 
off  a  great  bumper  of  wine,  "I  went  to  her,  of  course.  I 
think  she  is  the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world.  The  old 
man  was  out,  and  I  told  her  about  everything  that  had 
happened.  And  what  do  you  think  she  has  done  ?  She 
says  she  has  been  expecting  me  —  she  has;  and  she  has 
gone  and  fitted  up  a  room  with  a  nice  little  bed  at  the  top 
of  the  house,  with  everything  as  neat  and  trim  as  possible ; 
and  she  begged  and  prayed  I  would  go  and  stay  with  her 
—  and  I  said  I  would,  to  please  her.  And  then  she  takes 
me  down  to  her  room ;  and  she  jumps  up  to  a  cupboard, 
which  she  unlocks ;  and  she  opens  and  takes  three-and- 
twenty  pounds  out  of  a  —  out  of  a  tea  —  out  of  a  tea-caddy 
— confound  me  I  —  and  she  says,  'Here,  Philip,'  she  says, 
and  —  Boo  !  what  a  fool  I  am  !  "  and  here  the  orator  fairly 
broke  down  in  his  speech. 


CHAPTEK  XVI. 


IN    WHICH    PHILIP    SHOWS    HIS    METTLE. 


HEN  the  poor  Little 
Sister  proffered  her 
mite,  her  all,  to  Philip, 
T  dare  say  some  senti- 
mental passages  oc- 
curred between  them 
which  are  much  too 
trivial  to  be  narrated. 
No  doubt  her  pleas- 
ure AYOuld  have  been 
at  that  moment  to 
give  him  not  only 
that  gold  which  she 
had  been  saving  up 
against  rent-day,  but 
the  spoons,  the  furni- 
ture, and  all  the  valu- 
ables of  the  house, 
including,  perhaps,  J. 
J.'s  bric-a-brac,  cabi- 
nets, china,  and  so 
forth.  To  perform  a  kindness,  an  act  of  self-sacrifice ;  — 
are  not  these  the  most  delicious  privileges  of  female  tender- 
ness ?  Philip  checked  his  little  friend's  enthusiasm.  He 
showed  her  a  purse  full  of  money,  at  which  sight  the  poor 
little  soul  was  rather  disappointed.  He  magnified  the  value 
of  his  horses,  which,  according  to  Philip's  calculation,  were 
to  bring  him  at  least  two  hundred  pounds  more  than  the 
stock  which  he  had  already  in  hand;  and  the  master  of 
such  a  sum  as  this,  she  was  forced  to  confess,  had  no  need 
to  despair.  Indeed,  she  had  never  in  her  life  possessed 
the  half  of  it.  Her  kind  dear  little  offer  of  a  home  in  her 
house  he  would  accept  so]iietimes,  and  with  gratitude, 
little  consolation  in  that.     In  a  moment 


Well,  there  was  a 


316 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP.  317 

that  active  little  housekeeper  saw  the  room  ready  ;  flowers 
on  the  mantel-piece ;  his  looking-glass,  which  her  father 
could  do  quite  well  with  the  little  one,  as  he  was  always 
shaved  by  the  barber  now ;  the  quilted  counterpane,  which 
she  had  herself  made :  —  I  know  not  what  more  improve- 
ments she  devised ;  and  I  fear  that  at  the  idea  of  having 
Philip  with  her,  this  little  thing  was  as  extravagantly  and 
unreasonably  happy  as  we  have  just  now  seen  Philip  to  be. 
What  was  that  last  dish  which  Psetus  and  Arria  shared  in 
common  ?  I  have  lost  my  Lempriere's  dictionary  (that 
treasury  of  my  youth),  and  forget  whether  it  was  a  cold 
dagger  au  naturel,  or  a  dish  of  hot  coals  a  la  Romaine,  of 
which  they  partook ;  but  whatever  it  was,  she  smiled,  and 
delightedly  received  it,  happy  to  share  the  beloved  one's 
fortune. 

Yes :  Philip  would  come  home  to  his  Little  Sister  some- 
times :  sometimes  of  a  Saturday,  and  they  would  go  to 
church  on  Sunday,  as  he  used  to  do  when  he  was  a  boy  at 
school.  "  But  then,  you  know,"  says  Phil,  "  law  is  law ; 
study  is  study.  I  must  devote  my  whole  energies  to  my 
work  —  get  up  very  early." 

"  Don't  tire  your  eyes,  my  dear,"  interposes  JMr.  Philip's 
soft,  judicious  friend. 

^' There  must  be  no  trifling  with  work,"  says  Philip,  with 
awful  gravity.  ''There's  Benton  the  judge:  Benton  and 
Burbage,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  Benton  and  Burbage  ! "'  whispers  the  Little  Sister, 
not  a  little  bewildered. 

"How  do  you  suppose  he  became  a  judge  before  forty  ?  " 

"  Before  forty  who  ?  Law  bless  me  !  " 

"Before  he  was  forty,  Mrs.  Carry.  AVhen  he  came  to 
work  he  had  his  own  way  to  make  ;  just  like  me.  He  had 
a  small  allowance  from  his  father :  that's  not  like  me.  He 
took  chambers  in  the  Temple.  He  went  to  a  pleader's 
office.  He  read  fourteen,  fifteen  hours  every  day.  He 
dined  on  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  mutton-chop." 

"  La,  bless  me,  child !  I  wouldn't  have  you  to  do  that 
not  to  be  Lord  Chamberlain  —  Chancellor  what's  his  name? 
Destroy  your  youth  with  reading,  and  your  eyes,  and  go 
without  your  dinner  ?  You're  not  used  to  that  sort  of  thing, 
dear,  and  it  would  kill  you  ! " 

Philip  smoothed  his  fair  hair  off  his  ample  forehead, 
and  nodded  his  head,  smiling  sweetly.  I  think  his  inward 
monitor  hinted  to  him  that  there  was  not  much  danger  of 


318  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

Iris  killing  himself  by  over-work.  "  To  succeed  at  the  law, 
as  in  all  other  professions,"  he  continued,  with  much  grav- 
ity, ''  requires  the  greatest  perseverance,  and  industry,  and 
talent ;  and  then,  perhaps,  you  don't  succeed.  Many  have 
failed  who  have  had  all  these  qualities." 

"  But  they  haven't  talents  like  my  Philip,  I  know  they 
haveii't.  And  I  had  to  stand  up  in  a  court  once,  and  was 
cross-examined  by  a  vulgar  man  before  a  horrid  deaf  old 
judge;  and  I  am  sure  if  your  lawyers  are  like  them  I 
don't  wish  you  to  succeed  at  all.  And  now,  look !  there's 
a  nice  loin  of  pork  coming  up.  Pa  loves  roast  pork ;  and 
you  must  come  and  have  some  with  us ;  and  every  day  and 
all  days,  my  dear,  I  should  like  to  see  you  seated  there." 
And  the  Little  Sister  frisked  about  here,  and  bustled  there, 
and  brought  a  cunning  bottle  of  wine  from  some  corner, 
and  made  the  boy  welcome.  So  that,  you  see,  far  from 
starving,  he  actually  had  two  dinners  on  that  first  day  of 
his  ruin. 

Caroline  consented  to  a  compromise  regarding  the  money, 
on  Philip's  solemn  vow  and  promise  that  she  should  be  his 
banker  whenever  necessity  called.  She  rather  desired  his 
poverty  for  the  sake  of  its  precious  reward.  She  hid  away 
a  little  bag  of  gold  for  her  darling's  use  whenever  he  should 
need  it.  I  dare  say  she  pinched  and  had  shabby  dinners  at 
home,  so  as  to  save  yet  more,  and  so  caused  the  Captain  to 
grumble.  Wh}^,  for  that  boy's  sake,  I  believe  she  would 
have  been  capable  of  shaving  her  lodger's  legs  of  mutton, 
and  levying  a  tax  on  their  tea-caddies  and  baker's  stuff.  If 
you  don't  like  unprincipled  attachments  of  this  sort,  and 
only  desire  that  your  womankind  should  love  you  for  your- 
self, and  according  to  3"our  deserts,  I  am  your  very  humble 
servant.  Hereditary  bondswomen !  you  knoAv  that,  were 
you  free,  and  did  you  strike  the  blow,  my  dears,  you  were 
unhappy  for  your  pain,  and  eagerly  would  claim  your  bonds 
again.  WJiat  poet  has  uttered  that  sentiment  ?  It  is  per- 
fectly true,  and  I  know  will  receive  the  cordial  approbation 
of  the  dear  ladies. 

Philip  has  decreed  in  his  own  mind  that  he  will  go  and 
live  in  those  chambers  in  the  Temple  where  we  have  met 
him.  Van  John,  the  sporting  gentleman,  had  determined 
for  special  reasons  to  withdraw  from  law  and  sport  in  this 
country,  and  jNIr.  Firmin  took  possession  of  his  vacant 
sleeping-chamber.  To  furnish  a  bachelor's  bedroom  need 
not  be  a  matter  of   much  cost;   but   Mr.  Philip  was   too 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        319 

good-natured  a  fellow  to  haggle  about  the  valuation  of  Van 
John's  bedsteads  and  chests  of  drawers,  and  generously 
took  them  at  twice  their  value.  He  and  Mr.  Cassidy  now 
divided  the  rooms  in  equal  reign.  Ah,  happy  rooms, 
bright  rooms,  rooms  near  the  sky,  to  remember  you  is  to 
be  young  again !  for  I  would  have  you  to  know  that  when 
Philip  went  to  take  possession  of  his  share  of  the  fourth 
floor  m  the  Temple,  his  biographer  Avas  still  comparatively 
juvenile,  and  in  one  or  two  very  old-fashioned  families  was 
called  "young  Pendennis." 

So  Philip  Firm  in  dwelt  in  a  garret ;  and  the  fourth  part 
of  a  laundress  and  the  half  of  a  boy  now  formed  the  domes- 
tic establishment  of  him  who  had  been  attended  b}^  house- 
keepeTS,  butlers,  and  obsequious  liveried  menials.  To  be 
freed  from  that  ceremonial  and  etiquette  of  plush  and 
worsted  lace  was  an  immense  relief  to  Firmin.  His  pipe 
need  not  lurk  in  crypts  or  back  closets  now ;  its  fragrance 
breathed  over  the  w^hole  chambers  and  rose  up  to  the  sky, 
their  near  neighbor. 

The  first  month  or  two  after  being  ruined,  Philip  vowed, 
was  an  uncommonly  pleasant  time.  He  had  still  plenty  of 
money  in  his  pocket;  and  the  sense  that,  perhaps,  it  was 
imprudent  to  take  a  cab  or  drink  a  bottle  of  wine  added  a 
zest  to  those  enjoyments,  which  they  by  no  means  possessed 
wdien  they  were  easy  and  of  daily  occurrence.  I  am  not 
certain  that  a  dinner  of  beef  and  porter  did  not  amuse  our 
young  man  almost  as  well  as  banquets  much  more  costly  to 
which  he  had  been  accustomed.  He  laughed  at  the  preten- 
sions of  his  boyish  days,  when  he  and  other  solemn  young 
epicures  used  to  sit  down  to  elaborate  tavern  banquets,  and 
pretend  to  criticise  vintages,  and  sauces,  and  turtle.  As 
yet  there  was  not  only  content  with  his  dinner,  but  plenty 
therewith  ;  and  I  do  not  wish  to  alarm  you  by  supposing 
that  Philip  will  ever  have  to  encounter  any  dreadful  ex- 
tremities of  poverty  or  hunger  in  the  course  of  his  history. 
The  wine  in  the  jug  was  very  low  at  times,  but  it  never 
was  quite  empty.  This  lamb  was  shorn,  but  the  wind 
was  tempered  to  him. 

So  Philip  took  possession  of  his  rooms  in  the  Temple, 
and  began  actually  to  reside  there  just  as  the  long  vacation 
commenced,  which  he  intended  to  devote  to  a  course  of 
serious  study  of  the  law  and  private  preparation,  before 
he  should  venture  on  the  great  business  of  circuits  and  the 
bar.    iSTothing  is  more  necessary  for  desk-men  than  exercise, 


320  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

so  Philip  took  a  good  deal ;  especially  on  the  water,  where 
he  pulled  a  famous  oar.  Nothing  is  more  natural  after 
exercise  than  refreshment;  and  Mr.  Firmin,now  he  Avas  too 
poor  for  claret,  showed  a  great  capacity  for  beer.  After 
beer  and  bodily  labor,  rest  of  course  is  necessary ;  and  Fir- 
min  slept  nine  hours  and  looked  as  rosy  as  a  girl  in  her 
lirst  season.  Then  such  a  man,  with  such  a  frame  and 
health,  must  have  a  good  appetite  for  breakfast.  And  then 
every  man  who  wishes  to  succeed  at  the  bar,  in  the  senate, 
on  the  bench,  in  the  House  of  Peers,  on  the  AYoolsack, 
must  know  the  quotidian  history  of  his  country ;  so,  of 
course,  Philip  read  the  newspaper.  Thus,  you  see,  his 
hours  of  study  were  perforce  curtailed  by  the  necessary 
duties  wdiich  distracted  him  from  his  labors. 

It  has  been  said  that  Mr.  Firmin's  companion  in  cham- 
bers, Mr.  Cassidy,  Avas  a  native  of  the  neighboring  king- 
dom of  Ireland,  and  engaged  in  literary  pursuits  in  this 
country.  A  merry,  shrewd,  silent-,  observant  little  man, 
he,  unlike  some  of  his  compatriots,  always  knew  how  to 
make  both  ends  meet ;  feared  no  man  alive  in  the  character 
of  a  dun  ;  and  out  of  small  earnings  managed  to  transmit 
no  small  comforts  and  subsidies  to  old  parents  living  some- 
where in  Munster.  Of  Cassidy's  friends  was  Pinucane, 
nov/  editor  of  the  Fall  Mull  Gazette;  he  married  the 
widow"  of  the  late  eccentric  and  gifted  Captain  Shandon, 
and  Cass  himself  was  the  fashionable  correspondent  of  the 
Gazette,  chronicling  the  marriages,  deaths,  births,  dinner- 
parties of  the  nobility.  These  Irish  gentlemen  knew  other 
Irish  gentlemen,  connected  wdth  other  newspapers,  who 
formed  a  little  literary  society.  They  assembled  at  each 
other's  rooms,  and  at  haunts  where  social  pleasure  was  to  be 
purchased  at  no  dear  rate.  Philip  Firmin  was  known  to 
many  of  them  before  his  misfortunes  occurred,  and  when 
there  was  gold  in  plenty  in  his  pocket,  and  never-failing 
applause  for  his  songs. 

When  Pendennis  and  his  friends  wrote  in  this  news- 
paper, it  was  impertinent  enough,  and  many  men  must 
have  heard  the  waiters  laugh  at  the  airs  which  they  occa- 
sionally thought  proper  to  assume.  The  tone  which  they 
took  amused,  annoyed,  tickled,  was  popular.  It  was 
continued,  and,  of  course,  caricatured  by  -their  successors. 
They  w^orked  for  very  moderate  fees  ;  but  paid  themselves 
by  impertinence,  and  the  satisfaction  of  assailing  their 
betters.     Three  or  four  persons  w^eie  reserved  from  their 


ox  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        321 

abuse ;  but  sonieboth^  was  sure  every  week  to  be  tied  up  at 
their  post,  aud  the  public  made  sport  of  the  victim's  con- 
tortions. The  writers  were  obscure  barristers,  ushers,  and 
college  men,  but  they  had  omniscience  at  their  pens'  end, 
and  were  ready  to  lay  down  the  law  on  any  given  subject, 
—  to  teach  any  man  his  business,  were  it  a  bishop  in  his 
pulpit,  a  Minister  in  his  place  in  the  House,  a  captain  on 
his  quxrter-deck,  a  tailor  on  his  shopboard,  or  a  jockey  in 
his  saddle. 

Since  those  early  da3'S  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  when 
old  Shandon  wielded  his  truculent  tomahawk,  and  ^Messrs. 
W — rr — ngt — n  and  P — nd — nn — s  followed  him  in  the 
war  path,  the  Gazette  had  passed  through  several  hands  ; 
and  the  victims  who  were  immolated  by  the  editors  of 
to-day  were  very  likely  the  objects  of  the  best  puffery  of 
the  last  dynasty.  To  be  flogged  in  what  was  your  own 
school-room  —  that,  sureh',  is  a  queer  sensation;  and  when 
my  Report  was  published  on  the  decay  of  the  sealing-wax 
trade  in  the  three  kingdoms  (owing  to  the  prevalence  of 
gummed  envelopes,  — as  you  may  see  in  that  masterly  doc- 
ument) I  was  horsed  up  and  smartly  whipped  in  the  Gazette 
'by  some  of  the  rods  which  had  come  out  of  pickle  since 
my  time.  Was  not  good  Dr.  Guillotin  executed  by  his  own 
neat  invention  ?  T  don't  know  Avho  was  the  Monsieur  San- 
son who  operated  on  me ;  but  have  alwaj^s  had  my  idea 
that  Digges,  of  Corpus,  was  the  man  to  whom  my  flagella- 
tion was  intrusted.  His  father  keeps  a  ladies'  school  at 
Hackney;  but  there  is  an  air  of  fashion  in  everything 
Avhich  Digges  writes,  and  a  chivalrous  conservatism  which 
makes  me  })retty  certain  that  D.  was  my  scarifier.  All 
this,  however,  is  naught.  Let  us  turn  away  from  the  au- 
thor's private  griefs  and  egotisms  to  those  of  the  hero  of 
the  story. 

Does  any  one  remember  the  appearance  some  twenty 
years  ago  of  a  little  book  called  '•  Trumpet  Calls  "  —  a  book 
of  songs  and  poetry,  dedicated  to  his  brother  officers  by 
Cornet  Canterton  ?  His  trumpet  was  very  tolerably  melo- 
dious, and  the  cornet  played  some  small  airs  on  it  Avith  some 
little  grace  and  skill.  But  this  poor  Canterton  belonged  to 
the  Life-Guards  Green,  and  Philip  Firmin  would  have  liked 
to  have  the  lives  of  one  or  two  troops  at  least  of  that  corps. 
Entering  into  Mr.  Cassidy's  room,  Philip  found  the  little 
volume.  He  set  to  work  to  exterminate  Canterton.  He 
rode  him  down,  trampled  os'er  his  face  and  carcass,  knocked 

VOL.    T. — 21 


322  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

the  "  Trumpet  Calls  "  and  all  the  teeth  down  the  trumpe- 
ter's  throat.  Never  was  such  a  smashing  article  as  he  wrote. 
And  Mugford,  Mr.  Cassidy's  chief  and  owner,  who  likes 
always  to  have  at  least  one  man  served  up  and  hashed  small 
in  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette,  happened  at  this  very  juncture  to 
have  no  other  victim  ready  in  his  larder.  Philip's  review 
appeared  there  in  print.  He  rushes  off  with  immense  glee 
to  Westminster,  to  show  us  his  performance.  Nothing 
must  content  him  but  to  give  a  dinner  at  Greenwich  on  his 
success.  Oh,  Philip !  We  wished  that  this  had  not  been 
his  lirst  fee ;  and  that  sober  law  had  given  it  to  him,  and  not 
the  graceless  and  tickle  muse  with  whom  he  had  been  flirt- 
ing. Por,  truth  to  say,  certain  wise  old  heads  which  wagged 
over  his  performance  could  see  but  little  merit  in  it.  His 
style  was  coarse,  his  wit  clumsy  and  savage.  Never  mind 
characterizing  either  now.  He  has  seen  the  error  of  his 
ways,  and  divorced  with  the  muse  whom  he  never  ought  to 
have  wooed. 

The  shrewd  Cassidy  not  only  could  not  write  himself,  but 
knew  he  could  not  —  or,  at  least,  pen  more  than  a  plain  par- 
agraph, or  a  brief  sentence  to  the  point,  but  said  he  would 
carry  this  paper  to  his  chief.  "  His  Excellency  "  was  the 
nickname  by  which  this  chief  was  called  by  his  familiars. 
Mugford  —  Frederick  Mugford  was  his  real  name  —  and 
putting  out  of  sight  that  little  defect  in  his  character,  that 
he  committed  a  systematic  literary  murder  once  a  week,  a 
more  worthy  good-natured  little  .murderer  did  not  live.  He 
came  of  the  old  school  of  the  press.  Like  French  Marshals, 
he  had  risen  from  the  ranks,  and  retained  some  of  the  man- 
ners and  oddities  of  the  private  soldier.  A  new  race  of 
writers  had  grown  up  since  he  enlisted  as  a  printer's  boy  — 
men  of  the  world,  with  the  manners  of  other  gentlemen. 
IMugford  never  professed  the  least  gentility.  He  knew  that 
his  young  men  laughed  at  his  peculiarities,  and  did  not  care 
a  fig  for  their  scorn.  As  the  knife  with  which  he  conveyed 
his  victuals  to  his  mouth  went  down  Ids  throat  at  the  plen- 
teous banquets  Avhich  he  gave,  he  saw  his  j^oung  friends 
Avince  and  wonder,  and  rather  relished  their  surprise.  Those 
lips  never  cared  in  the  least  about  placing  his  /«.'s  in  right 
places.  They  used  bad  language  Avith  great  freedom  (to 
hear  him  bullying  a  printing-office  was  a  wonder  of  elo- 
quence)—  but  they  betrayed  no  secrets,  and  the  Avords 
Avhich  they  uttered  you  might  trust.  He  had  belonged  to 
two  or  three  parties,  and  had  respected  them  all.     When  he 


O.V  HIS    WAY   TIIROUail   THE    WORLD.        323 

went  to  the  Under-Secretary's  office  he  was  never  kept  wait- 
ing ;  and  once  or  twice  Mrs.  Mugford,  who  governed  him, 
ordered  him  to  attend  the  Saturday  reception  of  the  Minis- 
ters' ladies,  where  he  might  be  seen,  with  dirty  hands,  it  is 
true,  but  a  richly  embroidered  waistcoat  and  fancy  satin  tie. 
His  heart,  however,  was  not  in  these  entertainments.  I 
have  heard  him  say  that  he  only  came  because  ^Irs.  ^l. 
would  have  it;  and  he  frankly  owned  that  he  "would  rather 
'ave  a  pipe  and  a  drop  of  something  'ot  than  all  your  ices 
and  rubbish." 

^lugford  had  a  curious  knowledge  of  what  was  going  on 
in  the  world,  and  of  the  affairs  of  countless  people.  AVhen 
Cass  brought  Philip's  article  to  his  Excellency,  and  men- 
tioned the  author's  name,  Mugford  showed  himself  to  be 
perfectly  familiar  with  the  histories  of  Philip  and  his  father. 
"The  old  chap  has  nobbled  the  young  fellow's  money, 
almost  every  shilling  of  it,  I  hear.  Knew  he  never  would 
carry  on.  His  discounts  would  have  killed  any  man.  Seen 
his  paper  about  this  ten  year.  Young  one  is  a  gentleman 
—  passionate  fellow,  hawhaw  fellow,  but  kind  to  the  poor. 
Father  never  was  a  gentleman,  with  all  his  fine  airs  and  fine 
waistcoats.  I  don't  set  up  in  that  line  myself,  Cass,  but  I 
tell  you  I  know  'em  when  I  see  'em." 

Philip  had  friends  and  private  patrons  whose  influence 
was  great  with  the  IMugford  family,  and  of  Avhom  he  little 
kncAv.  Every  year  iMrs"  M.  was  in  the  habit  of  contributing 
a  ]\rugford  to  the  world.  She  was  one  of  ]Mrs.  Erandon^s 
most  regular  clients ;  and  year  after  year,  almost  from  his 
first  arrival  in  London,  Ridley,  the  painter,  had  been  en- 
gaged as  portrait  painter  to  this  worthy  family.  Philip  and 
his  illness ;  Philip  and  his  horses,  splendors,  and  entertain- 
ments ;  Philip  and  his  lamentable  downfall  and  ruin,  had 
formed  the  subject  of  many  an  interesting  talk  between  Mrs. 
:Mugford  and  her  friend  the  Little  Sister;  and  as  we  know 
Caroline's  infatuation  about  the  young  fellow,  we  may  sup- 
))Ose  that  his  good  qualities  lost  nothing  in  the  description. 
When  that  article  in  the  Pall  Jfall  G'</;^^^^^  appeared,  Xurse 
Brandon  took  the  omnibus  to  Haverstock  Hill,  where,  as 
you  know,  [Mugford  had  his  villa;  —  arrived  at  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford's,  Giczpffein  liand,  and  had  a  long  and  delightful  con- 
versation with  that  lady.  Mrs.  lirandon  bought  I  don't 
kn(3W  how  many  copies  of  that  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  She  now 
asked  for  it  repeatedly  in  her  walks  at  sundry  ginger-beer 
shoi)S,  and  of  all  sorts  of  news  venders.     1  have  heard  that 


324  THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

when  tlie  ^lugfords  first  purchased  the  Gazette,  Mrs.  M.  used 
to  drop  bills  from  her  pony-chaise,  and  distribute  placards 
setting  forth  the  excellence  of  the  journal.  "We  keep  our 
carriage,  but  we  ain't  above  our  business,  Brandon,"  that 
good  lady  would  say.  And  the  business  prospered  under 
the  management  of  these  worthy  folks;  and  the  pony-chaise 
unfolded  into  a  noble  barouche ;  and  the  pony  increased  and 
multiplied,  and  became  a  pair  of  horses ;  and  there  was  not 
a  richer  piece  of  gold  lace  round  any  coachman's  hat  in 
London  than  now  decorated  John,  who  had  grown  with  the 
growth  of  his  master's  fortunes,  and  drove  the  chariot  in 
which  his  worthy  employers  rode  on  the  way  to  Hampstead, 
honor,  and  prosperity. 

"  All  this  pitching  into  the  poet  is  very  well,  you  know, 
Cassidy,"  saj' s  Mugford  to  his  subordinate.  "  It's  like  shoot- 
ing a  butterfly  with  a  blunderbuss ;  but  if  Firmin  likes  that 
kind  of  sport,  I  don't  mind.  There  won't  be  any  difficulty 
about  taking  his  copy  at  our  place.  The  duchess  knows 
another  old  woman  who  is  a  friend  of  his  "  ("  the  duchess  " 
was  the  title  which  Mr.  Mugford  was  in  the  playful  habit 
of  conferring  upon  his  wife).  "  It's  my  belief  young  F.  had 
better  stick  to  the  law,  and  leave  the  writing  rubbish  alone. 
But  he  knows  his  own  affairs  best,  and,  mind  you,  the  duch- 
ess is  determined  we  shall  give  him  a  helping  hand." 

Once,  in  the  days  of  his  prosperity,  and  in  J.  J.'s  com- 
pany, Philip  had  visited  Mrs.  Mugford  and  her  family  —  a 
circumstance  which  the  gentleman  had  almost  forgotten. 
The  painter  and  his  friend  were  taking  a  Sunday  walk  and 
came  upon  Mugford's  pretty  cottage  and  garden,  and  were 
hospitably  entertained  there  by  the  owners  of  the  place.  It 
has  disappeared,  and  the  old  garden  has  long  since  been 
covered  by  terraces  and  villas,  and  INIugford  and  Mrs.  M., 
good  souls,  where  are  they  ?  But  the  lady  thought  she  had 
never  seen  such  a  fine-looking  young  fellow  as  Philip ;  cast 
about  in  her  mind  which  of  her  little  female  ^lugfords 
should  marry  him ;  and  insisted  upon  offering  her  guest 
champagne.  Poor  Phil !  So,  you  see,  whilst,  perhaps,  he 
was  rather  pluming  himself  upon  his  literary  talents,  and 
imagining  that  he  was  a  clever  fellow,  he  was  only  the 
object  of  a  job  on  the  part  of  two  or  three  good  folks,  who 
knew  his  history,  and  compassionated  his  misfortunes. 

Mugford  recalled  himself  to  Philip's  recollection,  when 
they  met  after  the  ai)pearance  of  IVIr.  Phil's  first  perform- 
ance in  the  Gazette.     If  he  still  took  a  Sunday  walk,  Hamp- 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        325 

stead  way,  ^h\  ]\r.  requested  him  to  remember  tha-t  there 
was  a  slice  of  beef  and  a  glass  of  wine  at  the  old  shop. 
Philip  remembered  it  well  enough  now :  the  ugly  room,  the 
ugly  family,  the  kind,  Avorthy  people.  Ere  long  he  learned 
what  had  been  Mrs.  Brandon's  connection  with  them,  and  the 
young  man's  heart  was  softened  and  grateful  as  he  thought 
how  this  kind,  gentle  creature  had  been  able  to  befriend 
him.  She,  we  may  be  sure,  was  not  a  little  proud  of  her 
protege.  I  believe  she  grew  to  fancy  that  the  whole  news- 
paper was  written  by  Philip.  She  made  her  fond  parent 
read  it  aloud  as  she  worked.  Mv.  Eidley,  senior,  pronounced 
it  was  remarkably  fine,  really  now;  without,  I  think,  entirely 
com})rehending  the  meaning  of  the  sentiments  which  Mr. 
Gann  gave  forth  in  his  rich  loud  voice,  and  often  dropping 
asleep  in  his  chair  during  this  sermon. 

In  the  autumn,  Mi\  Firmin's  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis,  selected  the  romantic  seaport  town  of  Boulogne  for 
their  holiday  residence  ;  and  having  roomy  quarters  in  the 
old  town,  we  gave  Mr.  Philip  an  invitation  to  pay  us  a  visit 
whenever  he  could  tear  himself  away  from  literature  and 
law.  He  came  in  high  spirits.  He  amused  us  by  imitations 
and  descriptions  of  his  new  proprietor  and  master,  Mr.  Mug- 
ford  —  his  blunders,  his  bad  language,  his  good  heart.  One 
day,  Mugford  expected  a  celebrated  literary  character  to 
dinner,  and  Philip  and  Cassidy  were  invited  to  meet  him. 
The  great  man  was  ill,  and  was  unable  to  come.  "Don't 
dish  up  the  side-dishes,"  called  out  Mugford  to  his  cook,  in 
the  hearing  of  his  other  guests.  "Mr.  Lyon  ain't  a-coming.'^ 
They  dined  quite  sufficiently  v\dthout  the  side-dishes,  and 
were  perfectly  cheerful  in  the  absence  of  the  lion.  Mugford 
patronized  his  young  men  with  amusing  good-nature.  "Fir- 
min,  cut  the  goose  for  the  duchess,  will  you  ?  Cass  can't 
say  Bo !  to  one,  he  can't.  Ridley,  a  little  of  the  stuffing. 
It'll  make  your  hair  curl."  And  Philip  was  going  to  imi- 
tate a  frightful  act  with  the  cold  steel  (with  which  I  have 
said  Philip's  master  used  to  convey  food  to  his  mouth),  but 
our  dear  innocent  third  daughter  uttered  a  shriek  of  terror, 
which  caused  him  to  drop  the  dreadful  weapon.  Our  dar- 
ling little  Florence  is  a  nervous  child,  and  tlie  sight  of  an 
edged  tool  causes  her  anguish,  ever  since  our  darling  little 
Tom  nearly  cut  his  thumb  oft"  with  his  father's  razor. 

Our  main  amusement  in  this  delightful  j^lace  was  to  look 
at  the  sea-sick,  landing  from  the  steamers;  and  one  day  as 
we  witnessed  this  phenomenon,  Philip  sprang  to  the  ropes 


326  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

which  divided  us  from  the  arriving  passengers,  and  with  a 
cry  of  "How  do  you  do,  General  ?  "  greeted  a  yellow-faced 
gentleman,  who  started  back,  and,  to  my  thinking,  seemed 
but  ill  inclined  to  reciprocate  Philip's  friendly  greeting. 
The  General  was  fluttered,  no  doubt,  by  the  bustle  and  in- 
terruptions incidental  to  the  landing.  A  pallid  lady,  the 
partner  of  his  existence  probably,  was  calling  out,  '"  Koof 
et  doo  domestiques,  Doo !  "  to  the  sentries  who  kept  the 
line,  and  who  seemed  little  interested  by  this  family  news. 
A  governess,  a  tall  young  lady,  and  several  more  male  and 
female  children,  followed  tlie  pale  lady,  who,  as  I  thought, 
looked  strangely  frightened  when  the  gentleman  addressed 
as  General  communicated  to  her  Philip's  name.  "  Is  that 
him  ?  '^  said  the  lady  in  questionable  grammar;  and  the  tall 
young  lady  turned  a  pair  of  large  eyes  upon  the  individual 
designated  as  '-him,"  and  showed  a  pair  of  dank  ringlets, 
out  of  which  the  envious  sea-nymphs  had  shaken  all  the 
curl. 

The  general  turned  out  to  be  General  Baynes ;  the  pale 
lady  was  Mrs.  General  B. ;  the  tall  3^oung  lady  was  Miss 
Charlotte  Baynes,  the  General's  eldest  child ;  and  the  other 
six,  forming  nine,  or  "noof,"  in  all,  as  Mrs.  General  B.  said, 
were  the  other  members  of  the  Baynes  family.  And  here 
I  may  as  well  say  why  the  General  looked  alarmed  on  see- 
ing Philip,  and  why  the  General's  lady  froAvned  at  him.  In 
action,  one  of  the  bravest  of  men,  in  common  life  General 
Bajaies  was  timorous  and  weak.  Specially  he  was  afraid  of 
jNIrs.  General  Baynes,  who  ruled  him  with  a  vigorous  au- 
thority. As  Philip's  trustee,  he  had  allowed  Philip's  father 
to  make  away  with  the  boy's  money.  He  learned  with  a 
ghastly  terror  that  lie  was  answerable  for  his  own  remiss- 
ness and  want  of  care.  For  a  long  while  he  did  not  dare  to 
tell  his  commander-in-chief  of  tins  dreadful  penalty  which 
was  hanging  over  him.  When  at  last  he  ventured  ui)on 
this  confession,  I  do  not  envy  him  the  scene  which  must 
have  ensued  between  him  and  his  commanding  officer.  The 
morning  after  the  fatal  confession,  Avhen  the  children  as- 
sembled for  breakfast  and  prayers,  Mrs.  Baynes  gave  their 
young  ones  their  porridge :  she  and  Charlotte  poured  out 
the  tea  and  coffee  for  the  elders,  and  then  addressing  her 
eldest  son,  Ochterlony,  she  said,  "  Ocky,  my  boy,  the 
General  has  announced  a  charming  piece  of  news  this 
morning." 

"  Bought  that  pony,  sir  ?  "  says  Ocky. 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WOULD.        327 

"  Oh,  what  jolly  fun  ! "  says  Moira.  the  second  son. 

"  Dear  I  dear  papa !  what's  the  matter,  and  why  do  3'ou 
look  so  ? "  cries  Cliarlotte,  looking  behind  her  father's 
paper. 

That  guilty  man  would  fain  hare  made  a  shroud  of  his 
Morning  Herald.  He  would  have  flung  the  sheet  over  his 
whole  bod\^,  and  lain  hidden  there  from  all  eyes. 

''  The  fun,  my  dears,  is  that  your  father  is  ruined  ;  that's 
the  fun.  Eat  your  porridge  now,  little  ones.  Charlotte, 
pop  a  bit  of  butter  in  Carrick's  porridge ;  for  you  mayn't 
have  any  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  gammon,"  cries  Moira. 

'•  You'll  soon  see  whether  it  is  gammon  or  not,  sir,  when 
you'll  be  starving,  sir.  Your  father  has  ruined  us  —  and  a 
very  pleasant  morning's  work,  I  am  sure." 

And  she  calmly  rubs  the  nose  of  her  youngest  child  who 
is  near  her,  and  too  young,  and  innocent,  and  careless,  per- 
haps, of  the  world's  censure  as  yet  to  keep  in  a  strict 
cleanliness  her  own  dear  little  snub  nose  and  dappled 
cheeks. 

"  We  are  only  ruined,  and  shall  be  starving  soon,  my 
dears,  and  if  the  General  has  bought  a  pony  —  as  I  dare  say 
he  has;  he  is  quite  capable  of  buying  a  pony  when  we  are 
starving  —  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  eat  the  ^owj. 
M'G-rigor,  don't  laugh.  Starvation  is  no  laughing  matter.' 
When  we  were  at  Dumdum  in  '36,  we  ate  some  colt.  Don't 
you  remember  Jubber's  colt  —  Jubber  of  the  Horse  Artillery, 
General  ?  Xever  tasted  anything  more  tender  in  all  ni}^ 
life.  Charlotte,  take  Jany's  hands  out  of  the  marmalade ! 
We  are  all  ruined,  my  dears,  as  sure  as  our  name  is  Baynes." 
Thus  did  the  mother  of  the  family  prattle  on  in  the  midst 
of  her  little  ones,  and  announce  to  them  the  dreadful  news 
of  impending  starvation.  "  General  Baynes,  by  his  care- 
lessness, had  allowed  Dr.  Firmin  to  make  away  with  the 
money  over  Avhich  the  General  had  been  set  as  sentinel. 
Philip  might  recover  from  the  trustee,  and  no  doubt  would. 
Perhaps  he  would  not  press  his  claim  ?  My  dear,  what  can 
you  expect  from  the  son  of  such  a  father  ?  Depend  on  it, 
Charlotte,  no  good  fruit  can  come  from  a  stalk  like  that. 
The  son  is  a  bad  one,  the  father  is  a  bad  one,  and  your  father, 
poor  dear  soul,  is  not  fit  to  be  trusted  to  walk  the  street 
without  some  one  to  keep  him  from  tumbling.  Why  did  I 
allow  him  to  go  to  town  without  me  ?  We  were  quartered 
at  Colchester  then  :  and  I  could  not  move  on  account  of 


323  ^THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

your  brother  M-Grigor.  ^Baynes,'  I  said  to  your  father, 
'  as  sure  as  I  let  you  go  away  to  town  without  me,  you  will 
come  to  mischief.'  And  go  he  did,  and  come  to  mischief  he 
did.  And  through  his  folly  I  and  my  poor  cliildren  must 
go  and  beg  our  bread  in  the  streets  —  I  and  my  seven  poor, 
robbed,  penniless  little  ones.     Oh,  it's  cruel,  cruel  !  " 

Indeed,  one  cannot  fancy  a  more  dismal  prospect  for  this 
worthy  mother  and  wife  than  to  see  her  children  without 
provision  at  the  commencement  of  their  lives,  and  her  luck- 
less husband  robbed  of  his  life's  earnings,  and  ruined  just 
when  he  was  too  old  to  work. 

What  was  to  become  of  them  ?  ISTow  poor  Charlotte 
thought,  with  pangs  of  a  keen  remorse,  how  idle  she  had 
been,  and  how  she  had  snubbed  her  governesses,  and  how 
little  she  knew,  and  how  badly  she  played  the  piano.  Oh, 
neglected  opportunities !  Oh,  remorse,  now  the  time  was 
past  and  irrecoverable !  Does  any  young  lady  read  this  who, 
perchance,  ought  to  be  doing  her  lessons  ?  My  dear,  lay 
down  the  story-book  at  once.  Go  up  to  your  school-room, 
and  practise  your  piano  for  two  hours  this  moment ;  so  that 
you  may  be  prepared  to  support  your  family,  should  ruin  in 
any  case  fall  upon  you.  A  great  girl  of  sixteen,  I  pity  Char- 
lotte Baynes's  feelings  of  anguish.  She  can't  write  a  very 
good  hand  ;  she  can  scarcely  answer  any  question  to  speak 
of  in  any  educational  books;  her  pianoforte  playing  is  ver}^, 
very  so-so  indeed.  If  she  is  to  go  out  and  get  a  living  for 
the  family,  how,  in  the  name  of  goodness,  is  she  to  set  about 
it  ?  What  are  they  to  do  with  the  boys,  and  the  money 
that  has  been  put  aw\ay  for  Ochterlony  when  he  goes  to  col- 
lege, and  for  Moira's  commission  ?  "  Why,  we  can't  afford 
to  keep  them  at  Dr.  Pybus's,  where  they  were  doing  so  well ; 
and  they  were  ever  so  much  better  and  more  gentlemanlike 
than  Colonel  Chandler's  boys ;  and  to  lose  the  army  will 
break  Moira's  heart,  it  will.  And  the  little  ones,  my  little 
blue-eyed  Carrick,  and  mydarling  Jany,  and  my  Mar}^,  that 
I  nursed  almost  miraculousl}^  out  of  her  scarlet  fever.  God 
help  them !  God  help  us  all ! "  thinks  the  poor  mother. 
No  wonder  that  her  nights  are  wakeful,  and  her  heart  in  a 
tumult  of  alarm  at  the  idea  of  the  impending  danger. 

And  the  father  of  the  family  ?  —  the  stout  old  General 
whose  battles  and  campaigns  are  over,  who  has  come  home 
to  rest  his  war-worn  limbs,  and  make  his  peace  Avith  heaven 
ere  it  calls  him  away  —  what  must  he  his  fec^lings  when  he 
thinks  that  he  has  been  entrapped  by  a  villain  into  commit 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        329 

ting  an  imprudence  wliicli  makes  his  children  penniless  and 
himself  dishonored  and  a  beggar  ?  When  he  found  what 
Dr.  Firmin  had  done,  and  how  he  had  been  cheated,  he  went 
away,  aghast,  to  his  lawyer,  who  could  give  him  no  help. 
Philip's  mother's  trustee  was  answerable  to  Philip  for  his 
property.  It  had  been  stolen  through  Baynes's  own  care- 
lessness, and  the  law  bound  him  to  replace  it.  General 
Baynes's  man  of  business  could  not  help  him  out  of  his 
perplexity  at  all ;  and  I  hope  my  worthy  reader  is  not  going 
to  be  angry  with  the  General  for  Avhat  I  own  he  did.  You 
never  would,  my  dear  sir,  I  know.  Xo  power  on  earth 
would  induce  you  to  depart  one  inch  from  the  path  of  recti- 
tude ;  or,  having  done  an  act  of  imprudence,  to  shrink  from 
bearing  the  consequence.  The  long  and  short  of  the  matter 
is,  that  j)Oor  Baynes  and  his  wife,  after  holding  agitated, 
stealthy  councils  together  —  after  believing  that  every 
strange  face  they  saw  was  a  bailiff's  coming  to  arrest  them 
on  Philij^'s  account  —  after  horrible  days  of  remorse,  misery, 
guilt  —  I  say  the  long  and  the  short  of  the  matter  was  that 
these  poor  people  determined  to  run  away.  The}^  would  go 
and  hide  themselves  anywhere  —  in  an  impenetrable  pine 
forest  in  Norway  —  up  an  inaccessible  mountain  in  Swit- 
zerland. They  would  change  their  names ;  dye  their  mus- 
tachios  and  honest  old  white  hair;  fly  with  their  little  ones 
away,  awaj^,  away,  out  of  the  reach  of  law  and  Philip  ;  and 
the  first  flight  lands  them  on  Boulogne  Pier,  and  there  is 
!^[r.  Philip  holding  out  his  hand  and  actually  eying  them  as 
they  get  out  of  the  steamer  !  Eying  them  ?  It  is  the  eye 
of  heaven  that  is  on  those  criminals.  Holding  out  his  hand 
to  them  ?  It  is  the  hand  of  fate  that  is  on  their  wretched 
shoulders.  Xo  wonder  they  shuddered  and  turned  pale. 
That  whicfi  I  tooK  loi  sea  sickness,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  was 
a  guilty  conscience  ;  and  where  is  the  steward,  my  dear 
friends,  who  can  relieve  us  of  that  ? 

As  this  party  came  staggering  out  of  the  custom-house, 
poor  Baynes  still  found  Philip's  hand  stretched  out  to  catch 
hold  of  him,  and  saluted  him  with  a  ghastly  cordiality. 
••  These  are  your  children.  General,  and  this  is  Mrs. 
Baynes  ?"  says  Philip,  smiling,  and  taking  off  his  hat. 

"  Oh,  yes !  I'm  ^Irs.  General  Baynes  ! "  says  the  poor 
woman ;  "  and  these  are  the  children  —  yes,  yes.  Charlotte, 
this  is  ^Ir.  Firmin,  of  whom  j^ou  have  heard  us  speak ;  and 
these  are  my  boys,  jNIoira  and  Ochterlony." 

"I  have  had  the  honor  of  meeting  General  Baynes  at  Old 


330  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

Parr  Street.  Don't  you  remember,  sir?"  says  Mr.  Penden- 
iiis,  with  great  affability  to  the  General. 

"  What,  another  who  knows  me  ?  "  I  dare  say  the  poor 
wretch  thinks ;  and  glances  of  a  dreadful  meaning  pass 
between  the  guilty  wife  and  the  guilty  husband. 

"  You  are  going  to  stay  at  any  hotel  ?  " 

"  '  Hotel  des  Bains  ! ' "  "  '  Hotel  du  Kord  ! '  "  "  ^  Hotel 
d'Angieterre ! ' "  here  cry  twenty  commissioners  in  a 
breath. 

^'  Hotel  ?  Oh,  yes  !  That  is,  we  have  not  made  up  our 
minds  whether  we  shall  go  on  to-night  or  whether  we  shall 
stay,"  say  those  guilty  ones,  looking  at  one  another,  and 
then  down  to  the  ground ;  on  which  one  of  the  children, 
with  a  roar,  says  — 

"  Oh,  ma,  what  a  story  !  You  said  you'd  stay  to-night ; 
and  I  was  so  sick  in  the  beastly  boat,  and  I  ivonH  travel  any 
more  !  "  And  tears  choke  his  artless  utterance.  "  And  you 
said  Bang  to  the  man  who  took  your  ke3^s,  you  know^  you 
did,"  resumes  the  innocent,  as  soon  as  he  can  gasp  a  further 
remark. 

"  Who  told  you  to  speak  ?  "  cried  mamma,  giving  the  boy 
a  shake. 

''  This  is  the  way  to  the  '  Hotel  des  Bains, '  "  says  Philip, 
making  Miss  Baynes  another  of  his  best  bows.  And  Miss 
Baynes  makes  a  courtesy,  and  her  eyes  look  up  at  the  hand- 
some young  man  —  large  brown  honest  eyes  in  a  comely 
round  face,  on  each  side  of  which  depend  two  straight  wisps 
of  brown  hair  that  were  ringlets  when  they  left  Folkestone 
a  few  hours  since. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  look  at  those  women  with  the  short  petti- 
coats !  and  wooden  shoes,  by  George  !  Oh !  it's  jolly,  ain't 
it  ?  "  cries  one  young  gentleman. 

"By  George,  there's  a  man  with  ear-rings  on  !  There  is, 
Ocky,  upon  my  word  !  "  calls  out  another.  And  the  elder 
boy,  turning  round  to  his  father,  points  to  some  soldiers. 
"  Did  you  ever  see  such  little  beggars  ?  "  he  says,  tossing  his 
head  up.     "  They  wouldn't  take  such  fellows  into  our  line." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  tired,  thank  you,"  says  Charlotte.  "  I 
am  accustomed  to  carry  him."  I  had  forgot  to  say  that  the 
young  lady  had  one  of  the  children  asleep  on  her  shoulder; 
and  another  was  toddling  at  her  side,  holding  by  his  sister's 
dress,  and  admiring  Mr.  Firmin's  whiskers,  that  flamed  and 
curled  very  luminously  and  gloriously,  like  to  the  rays  of 
the  setting  sun. 


Oi\  HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WOULD.        331 

"  I  am  very  glad  we  met,  sir,"  says  Philip,  in  the  most 
friendly  manner,  taking  leave  of  the  General  at  the  gate  of 
his  hotel.  "  1  hope  you  won't  go  aAvay  to-morrow,  and  that 
I  may  come  and  pay  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Baynes."  Again 
he  salutes  that  lady  with  a  coiijj  cle  cliapeau.  Again  he  bows 
to  Miss  Baynes.  She  makes  a  pretty  courtesy  enough,  con- 
sidering that  she  has  a  baby  asleep  on  her  shoulder.  And 
they  enter  the  hotel,  the  excellent  Marie  marshalling  them 
to  htting  apartments,  where  some  of  them,  I  have  no  doubt, 
will  sleep  very  soundly.  How  much  more  comfortably 
might  poor  BaA'nes  and  his  wife  have  slept  had  they  known 
what  were  Philip's  feelings  regarding  them  I 

AVe  both  admired  Charlotte,  the  tall  girl  who  carried  her 
little  brother,  and  around  whom  the  others  clung.  And  we 
spoke  loudly  in  Miss  Charlotte's  praises  to  Mrs.  Pendennis, 
when  we  joined  that  lady  at  dinner.  In  the  praise  of  ]\[rs. 
Baynes  we  had  not  a  great  deal  to  say,  further  than  that 
she  seemed  to  take  command  of  the  whole  expedition, 
including  the  general  officer,  her  husband. 

Though  Marie's  beds  at  the  "  Hotel  des  Bains  "  are  as 
comfortable  .is  any  beds  in  Europe,  you  see  that  admirable 
chamber-maid  cannot  lay  out  a  clean,  easy  conscience  upon 
the  clean,  fragrant  pillow-case ;  and  General  and  ]Mrs. 
Baynes  owned,  in  after  days,  that  one  of  the  most  dreadful 
nights  they  ever  passed  was  that  of  their  first  landing  in 
France.  What  refugee  from  his  country  can  fly  from  him- 
self ?  Kailways  were  not  as  yet  in  that  part  of  Prance. 
The  General  was  too  poor  to  fly  with  a  couple  of  private 
carriages,  which  he  must  have  had  for  his  family  of  "  noof," 
his  governess,  and  two  servants.  Encumbered  with  such  a 
train,  his  enemy  would  speedih'  have  pursued  and  overtaken 
him.  It  is  a  fact  that,  immediately  after  landing  at  his 
hotel,  he  and  his  commanding  officer  went  off  to  see  when 
they  could  get  places  for  —  never  mind  the  name  of  the 
place  where  they  really  thought  of  taking  refuge.  They 
never  told,  but  Mrs.  General  Baynes  had  a  sister,  ^Nlrs. 
Major  MacWhirter  (married  to  MacW.  of  the  Bengal  Cav- 
alry), and  the  sisters  loved  each  other  very  affectionately, 
especially  by  letter,  for  it  must  be  owned  that  they  quar- 
relled frightfully  when  together ;  and  INIrs.  MacWhirter 
never  could  bear  that  her  younger  sister  should  be  taken 
out  to  dinner  before  her,  because  she  was  married  to  a 
superior  officer.  Well,  their  little  differences  were  forgotten 
when  the  two  ladies  were  apart.     TLs  sisters  wrote  to  each 


332  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

other  prodigious  long  letters,  in  which  household  affairs, 
the  children's  puerile  diseases,  the  relative  prices  of  veal, 
eggs,  chickens,  the  rent  of  lodging  and  houses  in  various 
places,  were  fully  discussed.  And  as  Mrs.  Baynes  showed 
a  surprising  knowledge  of  Tours,  the  markets,  rents,  clergy- 
men, society  there,  and  as  Major  and  Mrs.  Mac.  were  stay- 
ing there,  I  have  little  doubt,  for  my  part,  from  this  and 
another  not  unimportant  circumstance,  that  it  was  to  that 
fair  city  our  fugitives  were  wending  their  way,  when  cA'^ents 
occurred  which  must  now  be  narrated,  and  which  caused 
General  Baynes  at  the  head  of  his  domestic  regiment  to  do 
what  the  King  of  France  with  twenty  thousand  men  is  said 
to  have  done  in  old  times. 

Philip  was  greatly  interested  about  the  family.  The  truth 
is,  we  were  all  very  much  bored  at  Boulogne.  We  read  the 
feeblest  London  papers  at  the  reading-room  with  frantic 
assiduity.  We  saw  all  the  boats  come  in  :  and  the  day  was 
lost  when  we  missed  the  Folkestone  boat  or  the  London 
boat.  We  consumed  much  time  and  absinthe  at  cafes  ;  and 
tramped  leagues  upon  that  old  pier  every  day.  AVell,  Philip 
Avas  at  the  "Hotel  des  Bains"  at  a  very  early  hour  next 
morning,  and  there  he  saw  the  General,  with  a  woe-worn 
face,  leaning  on  his  stick,  and  looking  at  his  luggage,  as  it 
lay  piled  in  the  porte-cochere  of  the  hotel.  There  they  lay, 
thirty-seven  packages  in  all,  including  washing-tubs,  and  a 
child's  India  sleeping-cot ;  and  all  these  packages  were 
ticketed  M.  le  Geni^ral  Baynp:s,  Officiek  Anglais, 
Tours,  Touraine,  France.  I  say,  putting  two  and  two 
together ;  calling  to  mind  Mrs.  General's  singular  knowledge 
of  Tours  and  familiarity  with  the  place  and  its  prices  ;  re- 
membering that  her  sister  Emily  —  Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter, 
in  fact — was  there  ;  and  seeing  thirty-seven  trunks,  bags, 
and  portmanteaus,  all  directed  "  M.  le  General  Baynes, 
Officier  Anglais,  Tours,  Touraine,"  am  I  wrong  in  supposing 
that  Tours  was  the  General's  destination  ?  On  the  other 
hand,  we  have  the  old  officer's  declaration  to  Philip  that  he 
did  not  know  where  he  was  going.  Oh,  you  sly  old  man  ! 
Oh,  you  gray  old  fox,  beginning  to  double  and  to  turn  at 
sixty-seven  years  of  age  !  Well  ?  The  General  was  in 
retreat,  and  he  did  not  wish  the  eneni}-  to  know  upon  what 
lines  he  was  retreating.  What  is  the  harm  of  that,  pray  ? 
Besides,  he  was  under  the  orders  of  his  commanding  officer, 
and  when  Mrs.  General  gave  her  orders,  I  should  have  liked 
to  see  any  officer  of  hers  disobey. 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        333 

"  What  a  pyramid  of  portmanteaus  !  You  are  not  think- 
ing of  moving-  to-da}',  General  ?  "  says  Philip. 

^'It  is  Sunday,  sir,"  says  the  General;  which  you  will 
perceive  was  not  answering  the  question ;  but,  in  truth, 
except  for  a  very  great  emergency,  the  good  General  would 
not  travel  on  that  day. 

"  I  hope  the  ladies  slept  well  after  their  windy  voy- 
age." 

"  Thank  you.  My  wife  is  an  old  sailor,  and  has  made 
two  voyages  out  and  home  to  India."  Here,  you  under- 
stand, the  old  man  is  again  eluding  his  interlocutor's  artless 
queries. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  some  talk  with  you,  sir,  when  you 
are  free,"  continues  Philip,  not  having  leisure  as  yet  to  be 
surprised  at  the  other's  demeanor. 

''There  are  other  days  besides  Sunday  for  talk  on  busi- 
ness," says  that  piteous  sly-boots  of  an  old  officer.  Ah, 
conscience  !  conscience  !  Twenty-four  Sikhs,  sword  in  hand, 
two  dozen  Pindarries,  Mahrattas,  Ghoorkas,  what  you  please 
—  that  old  man  felt  that  he  would  rather  have  met  them 
than  Philip's  unsuspecting  blue  eyes.  These,  however,  now 
lighted  up  with  rather  an  angry,  "Well,  sir,  as  you  don't 
talk  business  on  Sunday,  may  I  call  on  you  to-morrow 
morning  ?  " 

And  what  advantage  had  the  poor  old  fellow  got  by  all 
this  doubling  and  hesitating  and  artfulness?  —  a  respite 
until  to-morrow  morning  !  Another  night  of  horrible  wake- 
fulness and  hopeless  guilt,  and  Philip  waiting  ready  the 
next  morning  with  his  little  bill,  and,  "  Please  pay  me  the 
thirty  thousand  which  my  father  spent  and  j^ou  owe  me. 
Please  turn  out  into  the  streets  with  your  wife  and  family, 
and  beg  and  starve.  Have  the  goodness  to  hand  me  out 
your  last  rupee.  Be  kind  enough  to  sell  your  children's 
clothes  and  your  wife's  jewels,  and  hand  over  the  proceeds 
to  me.     I'll  call  to-morrow.     Bye,  bye." 

Here  there  came  tripping  over  the  marble  pavement  of 
the  hall  of  the  hotel  a  tall  young  lady  in  a  brown  silk 
dress  and  rich  curling  ringlets  falling  upon  her  fair  young 
neck  —  beautiful  brown  curling  ringlets,  vous  comprenez, 
not  Avisps  of  moistened  hair,  and  a  broad  clear  forehead, 
and  two  honest  eyes  shining  below  it,  and  cheeks  not  pale 
as  they  were  yesterday ;  and  lips  redder  still ;  and  she 
says,  "  Papa,  papa,  won't  j^ou  come  to  breakfast  ?  The  tea 
is  —  "     What  the  precise  state  of  the  tea  is  I  don't  know  ^ 


334  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

none  of  us  ever  sliall — for  here  she  says  "  0\\,  ^Ir.  Firniin ! " 
and  makes  a  courtesy. 

To  which  remark  Philip  replied,  ''  Miss  Baynes,  I  hope 
you  are  very  well  this  morning,  and  not  the  worse  for  yes- 
terday's rough  weather." 

•'  I  am  quite  well,  thank  3^ou,"  w^as  ^liss  Baynes's  instant 
reply.  The  answer  was  not  witty,  to  be  sure ;  but  I  don't 
know  that  under  the  circumstances  she  could  have  said  any- 
thing more  appropriate.  Indeed,  never  was  a  pleasante; 
picl5ure  of  health  and  good-humor  than  the  young  lady 
presented;  a  difference  more  pleasant  to  note  than  Miss 
Charlotte's  pale  face  from  the  steamboat  on  Saturday,  and 
shining,  rosy,  happy,  and  innocent,  in  the  cloudless  Sabbath 
morn. 


"  A  Madame, 
"  Madame  i.e  Majou  MacWuirter, 
'•  A  Tours, 

"toukaine, 
"France. 

'•Tixtelleries,  Boulogxe-sur-Mer, 
Wednesday,  August  24,  IS — . 
"Dearest  Emily, — After  suffering  more  dreadf ally  in  t\\Q  two 
hours'  passage  from  Folkestone  to  this  place  than  I  have  in  four  pas- 
sages out  and  home  from  India,  except  in  that  terrible  storm  off  the 
Cape,  in  September,  1824,  when  I  certainly  did  suffer  most  cruelly  on 
board  that  honible  troopsliip,  we  reached  this  place  last  Saturday  even- 
ing, having  a  full  deterininatioa  to  proceed  immediately  on  our  route. 
Now,  you  will  perceive  that  our  minds  are  changed.  We  found  this 
place  pleasant,  and  the  lodgings  besides  most  neat,  comfortable,  and 
well  found  in  everything,  more  reamnahle  than  you  proposed  to  get 
for  us  at  Tours,  which  I  am  told  also  is  damp,  and  might  bring  on  the 
general's  jungle  fever  a'/nln.  Owincc  to  the  whooping-cough  having 
just  been  in  tlie  house,  which,  praised  be  mercy,  all  my  dear  ones  have 
had  it,  including  dea:-  baby,  who  is  quite  well  through  it,  and  recom- 
mended sea  air,  we  got  this  liouse  more  reasonable  than  prices  you 
mention  at  Tours.  A  whole  house:  little  room  for  two  boys;  nursery; 
nice  little  room  for  Charlotte,  and  a  den  for  the  General.  I  don't 
know  how  ever  we  should  have  brought  our  party  safe  all  the  way  to 
Tours.  Thirtij-Heven  articles  of  luggage,  and  Miss  Flixby,  who 
announced  herself  as  perfect  French  governess,  acquired  at  Paris  — 
perfect,  hut  perfectbj  useless.  She  can't  understand  the  French  people 
when  tliey  speak  to  her,  and  goes  about  the  house  in  a  most  bewilder- 
ing ivay.  I  am  the  interpreter;  poor  Charlotte  is  much  too  timid  to 
speak  when  I  am  by.  I  have  rubbed  up  the  old  French  which  we 
learned  at  Chiswick  at  Miss  Pinkerton's;  and  I  find  my  Hindostanee 
of  great  help:  wliich  I  use  it  when  we  are  at  a  loss  for  a  word,  and  it 

answers  extremely  v;elL     We  pay  for  lodgings,  the  whole  house 

francs  per  month.     Butcher's  meat  and  poultry  plentiful  but  dear.     A 
grocer  in  the  Grande  Kue  sells  excellent  wine  at   fifteenpence  per 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        335 

bottle;  and  groceries  pretty  much  at  English  prices,  ^h:  Blowman  at 
the  Euglibh  chapel  of  Llie  Tintelleries  has  a  fine  voice,  and  appears  to 
be  a  most  excellent  cler</uman.  1  have  heard  hiin  only  once,  however, 
on  Sunday  evening,  wlien  I  was  so  agitated  and  so  iinliappy  in  my 
mind  that  I  own  1  took  little  note  of  his  sermon. 

"  The  cause  of  that  agitation  you  knoii\  having  imparted  it  to  you 
in  my  letters  of  July,  June,  and  24th  of  May.  ult.  My  poor  simple, 
guileless  Baynes  was  trustee  to  Mrs.  Dr.  Firmin,  before  she  married 
that  most  unprincipled  man.  When  we  were  at  home  last,  and  ex- 
changed to  the  12Uth  from  the  99th,  my  poor  husband  was  inveigled 
by  t  ,e  liorrid  man  into  signing  a  paper  which  put  the  doctor  in  pos- 
session of  all  /lis  icife's  pi-operty;  whereas  Cliarles  thought  he  was 
only  signing  a  power  of  attorney,  enabling  him  to  i-eceive  his  son's 
dividends.  Dr.  F.,  after  the  most  atrocious  deceit,  forgery,  and 
criminality  of  every  kind,  fled  the  country;  and  Hunt  and  Pegler,  our 
solicitors,  informed  us  that  the  General  was  answerable  for  the  icick- 
edness  of  this  miscreant.  He  is  so  weak  that  he  has  been  many  and 
7»o»// times  on  the  point  of  going  to  young  Mr.  F.  and  giving  ?(p  every- 
thin;/.  It  was  only  by  my  prayers,  by  my  commands,  that  I  have  been 
enabled  to  keep  him  quiet;  and,  indeed,  Lmily,  the  effort  lias  almost 
killed  him.  Brandy  repeatedly  I  was  obliged  to  administer  on  the 
dreadful  night  of  our  arrival  here. 

"  For  tlie  first  person  we  met  on  landing  was  Mr.  Philip  Firmin, 
loith  a  pert  friend  of  his,  Mr.  Pendennis,  wbom  1  don't  at  all  like, 
though  his  wife  is  an  amiable  person  like  Emma  Fletcber  of  the  Horse 
Artillery:  not  with  Emma's  style,  however,  but  still  amiable,  and 
disposed  to  be  most  civil.  Charlotte  has  taken  a  great  fancy  to  her, 
as  she  always  does  to  every  new  pers(m.  Well,  fancy  our  state  on 
landing,  when  a  young  gentleman  calls  out,  '  How^  do  you  do,  Gen- 
eral ? '  and  turns  out  to  be  Mr.  Firmin !  1  thought  I  should  have  lost 
Charles  in  the  night.  I  have  seen  him  before  going  into  action  as 
calm,  and  sleep  and  smile  as-  sweet,  as  any  babe.  It  was  all  I  could 
do  to  keep  up  his  courage;  and,  but  for  me,  but  for  my  prayers,  but 
for  my  agonies,  I  think  he  would  have  jumped  out  of  bed,  and  gone 
to  Mr.  F.  that  night,  and  said    '  Take  everything  I  have.' 

"  Th<;  young  man  I  own  has  behaved  in  the  most  honorable  way. 
He  came  to  see  us  before  breakfast  on  Sunday,  when  the  poor  General 
was  so  ill  that  I  thought  he  would  \m\Qfahded  over  his  tea.  He  was 
too  ill  to  go  to  church,  where  1  went  alone,  with  my  dear  ones,  having, 
as  I  own,  but  very  small  comfort  in  the  sermon:  but  oh,  Emily, 
fancy,  on  our  return,  when  I  went  into  our  room,  I  found  my  General 
on  his  knees  with  his  Church  service  before  him,  crying,  crying  like  a 
babv!  You  know  I  am  hasty  in  my  temper  sometimes,  and  his  is 
indeed  an  angel's  — and  I  said  to  him,  *  Charles  Baynes,  be  a  man  and 
don't  cry  like  a  child!'  'Ah,'  says  he,  'Eliza  do  you  kneel,  and 
thank  God  too;'  on  which  I  said  that  I  thought  I  did  not  requu-e 
instruction  in  my  religion  from  him  or  any  man,  except  a  clergyman, 
and  many  of  these  are  but  poor  instructors,  as  you  know. 

"'  He  has  been  here,'  savs  Charles;  when  I  said,  '  Who  has  been 
here?'  'That  noble  voung  fellow,'  says  my  General,  'that  noble, 
noble  Philip  Firmin.'  "  Which  noble  his  conduct  I  own  it  has  been. 
'  Whilst  you  were  at  church  he  came  again  — here  into  this  very  room, 
where  I  was  sitting,  doubting  and  despairing,  with  the  Holy  Book  be- 
fore my  eyes,  and  no  comfort  out  of  it.  And  he  said  to  me,  "  General, 
I  want' to  talk  to  you  about  my  grandfather's  will.     You  don't  suppose 


336  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 

that  because  my  father  lias  deceived  you  and  ruined  me,  I  will  carry 
the  ruin  fartlier,  and  visit  liis  wrong  upon  cliildren  and  innocent 
people?"  Those  were  the  young  man's  words,'  my  General  said; 
and  'oh,  Eliza!'  says  he,  'what  pangs  of  remorse  I  felt  when  I  re- 
membered we  had  used  hard  words  about  him,'  which  I  own  we  had, 
for  his  manners  are  rough  and  haughty,  and  I  have  heard  things  of 
him  which  I  do  believe  now  can't  be  true. 

"  All  Monday  my  poor  man  was  obliged  to  keep  his  bed  with  a 
smart  attack  of  his  fever.  But  yesterday  he  was  quite  bright  and 
well  again,  and  the  Pendennis  party  took  Charlotte  for  a  drive,  and 
show^ed  themselves  most  polite.  She  reminds  me  of  Mrs.  Tom 
Fletcher  of  the  Horse  Artillery,  but  that  I  think  I  have  mentioned 
before.  My  paper  is  full;  and  with  our  best  to  MacWhirter  and  the 
children,  I  am  always  my  dearest  Emily's  affectionate  sister, 

"Eliza  Baynes." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

BREVIS    ESSE    LABORO. 

EVER,  General  B ay  n  e  s 
'  afterwards  declared,  did 
fever  coine  and  go  so 
pleasantly  as  that  attack 
to  which  we  have  seen  the 
Mrs.  General  advert  in  her 
letter  to  her  sister,  Mrs. 
Major  ]\[acWhirter.  The 
cold  fit  was  merely  a  lively, 
pleasant  chatter  and  rattle 
of  the  teeth ;  the  hot  fit  an 
agreeable  warmth  ;  and 
though  the  ensuing  sleep, 
with  which  I  believe  such 
aguish  attacks  are  usually 
concluded,  was  enlivened  by  several  dreams  of  death,  de- 
mons, and  torture,  how  felicitous  it  was  to  wake  and  find 
that  dreadful  thought  of  ruin  removed  which  had  always, 
for  the  last  few  months,  ever  since  Dr.  Eirmin's  flight 
and  the  knowledge  of  his  own  imprudence,  pursued  the 
good-natured  gentleman  !  What !  this  boy  might  go  to  col- 
lege, and  that  get  his  commission ;  and  their  meals  need  be 
embittered  by  no  more  dreadful  thoughts  of  the  morrow, 
and  their  walks  no  longer  Avere  dogged  by  imaginary  bailiffs, 
and  presented  a  jail  in  the  vista!  It  was  too  much  bliss  ; 
and  again  and  again  the  old  soldier  said  his  thankful 
prayers,  and  blessed  his  benefactor. 

Philip  thought  no  more  of  his  act  of  kindness,  except  to 
be  ver}^  grateful  and  very  happy  that  he  had  rendered 
other  people  so.  He  could  no  more  have  taken  the  old 
man's  all,  and  plunged  that  innocent  family  into  poverty, 
than  he  could  have  stolen  the  forks  off  my  table.  But 
other  folks  were  disposed  to  rate  his  virtue  much  more 
highly ;  and  amongst  these  was  my  vj  if e,  who  chose  posi- 
VOL.    I. —  22  337 


338  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

tively  to  Avorship  this  young  gentleman,  and  I  believe 
would  have  let  him  smoke  in  her  drawing-room  if  he  had 
been  so  minded,  and  though  her  genteelest  acquaintances 
were  in  the  room.  Goodness  knows  what  a  noise  and 
what  piteous  looks  are  produced  if  ever  the  master  of  the 
house  chooses  to  indulge  in  a  cigar  after  dinner  ;  but  then, 
you  understand,  /  have  never  declined  to  claim  mine  and 
my  children's  right  because  an  old  gentleman  would  be 
inconvenienced :  and  this  is  what  I  tell  j\Irs.  Pen.  If  I 
order  a  coat  from  my  tailor,  must  I  refuse  to  pay  him  be- 
cause a  rogue  steals  it,  and  ought  I  to  expect  to  be  let  off  ? 
Women  won't  see  matters  of  fact  in  a  matter-of-fact  point 
of  view,  and  justice,  unless  it  is  tinged  with  a  little  romance, 
gets  no  respect  from  them. 

So,  forsooth,  because  Philip  has  performed  this  certainly 
most  generous,  most  dashing,  most  reckless  piece  of  extrava- 
gance, he  is  to  be  held  up  as  a  most  perfect  ^9?'ei/a:;  chevalier. 
The  most  riotous  dinners  are  ordered  for  him.  We  are  to 
wait  until  he  comes  to  breakfast,  and  he  is  pretty  nearly 
always  late.  The  children  are  to  be  sent  round  to  kiss 
Uncle  Philip,  as  he  is  now  called.  The  children  ?  I  won- 
der the  mother  did  not  jump  up  and  kiss  him  too.  Elle  en 
eta  it  caimhle.  As  for  the  osculations  which  took  place 
between  Mrs.  Pendennis  and  her  new-found  young  friend. 
Miss  Charlotte  Baynes,  they  Avere  perfectly  ridiculous  ;  two 
school  children  could  not  have  behaved  more  absurdly ; 
and  I  don't  know  which  seemed  to  be  the  younger  of  these 
two.  There  were  colloquies,  assignations,  meetings  on  the 
ramparts,  on  the  pier,  where  know  I  ?  —  and  the  servants 
and  little  children  of  the  two  establishments  were  per- 
j^etuall}^  trotting  to  and  fro  with  letters  from  dearest  Laura 
to  dearest  Charlotte,  and  dearest  Charlotte  to  her  dearest 
Mrs.  Pendennis.  Why,  my  wife  absolutely  went  the  length 
of  saying  that  dearest  Charlotte's  mother.  Mrs.  Baynes,  was 
a  worthy,  clever  woman,  and  a  good  mother  —  a  woman 
whose  tongue  never  ceased  clacking  about  the  regiment, 
and  all  the  officers,  and  all  the  officers'  wives  ;  of  whom,  by 
the  way,  she  had  v^ery  little  good  to  tell. 

''A  worthy  mother,  is  she,  my  dear  ?"  I  say.  ''But,  oh, 
mercy !   IVErs.  Baynes  would  be  an  awful  mother-in-law  !  " 

I  shuddered  at  the  thouglit  of  having  such  a  common- 
place, hard,  ill-bred  woman  in  a  state  of  quasi  authority 
over  me. 

On  this  ]\Irs.  Laura  must  break  out  in  quite  a  petulant 


ox  HIS    WAV  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        339 

tone —  "  Oh,  how  stale  this  kind  of  ca  thing  is,  Arthur,  from 
a  man  qui  vent  ^^(;6-.sy^/*  i^oiw  lui  honime  d'esjjrlt!  You  are 
always  attacking  mothers-in-law  !  " 

''Witness  Mrs.  Mackenzie,  my  love — Clive  Newcome's 
mother-in-law.  That's  a  nice  creature ;  not  selfish,  not 
wicked,  not — " 

"Not  nonsense,  Arthur  !  " 

"Mrs.  Baynes  knew  Mrs.  Mackenzie  in  the  West  Indies, 
as  she  knew  all  the  female  army. .  She  considers  Mrs.  Mac- 
kenzie was  a  most  elegant,  handsome,  dashing  woman  — 
only  a  little  too  fond  of  the  admiration  of  our  sex.  There 
was,  I  own,  a  fascination  about  Captain  Goby.  Do  you 
remember,  my  love,  that  man  vy^ith  the  stavs  and  dved  hair, 
who  —  " 

'•Oh,  Arthur !  When  our  girls  marry,  I  suppose  you  will 
teach  their  husbands  to  abuse,  and  scorn,  and  mistrust  their 
mother-in-law\  Will  he,  my  darlings  ?  Will  he,  my  bless- 
ings ?  "  (This  apart  to  the  children,  if  you  please.)  "  Go  ! 
I  have  no  patience  with  such  talk  !  " 

"Well,  my  love,  jNlrs.  Baynes  is  a  most  agreeable  woman, 
and  when  I  have  heard  that  story  about  the  Highlanders  at 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  a  lew  times  more  "  (1  do  not  tell  it 
here,  for  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  present  history),  "I 
dare  say  I  shall  begin  to  be  amused  by  it." 

"  Ah  !  here  comes  Charlotte,  I'm  glad  to  sa3^  How  pretty 
she  is  !     What  a  color  !     What  a  dear  creature  !  " 

To  all  Avhich,  of  course,  I  could  not  say  a  contradictory 
word,  for  a  prettier,  fresher  lass  than  ]\Iiss  Baynes,  with  a 
sweeter  voice,  face,  huighter,  it  Avas  difficult  to  see. 

"  W^hy  does  mamma  like  Charlotte  better  than  she  likes 
us  ?  "  says  our  dear  and  justly  indignant  eldest  girl. 

"I  could  not  love  her  better  if  I  were  her  mothev-'m-Iaiv,^^ 
says  Laura,  running  to  her  young  friend,  casting  a  glance 
at  me  over  her  shoulder ;  and  that  kissing  nonsense  begins 
between  the  two  ladies.  To  be  sure  the  girl  looks  uncom- 
monly bright  and  pretty  with  her  pink  cheeks,  her  bright 
eyes,  her  slim  form,  and  that  charming  white  India  shawl 
wliich  her  father  brouglit  home  for  her. 

To  this  osculatory  party  enters  presently  ISIr.  Philip  Fir- 
min,  who  has  been  dawdling  about  the  ramparts  ever  since 
breakfast.  He  says  he  has  been  reading  law  there.  He 
has  found  a  jolly  quiet  place  to  read  law,  has  he  ?  And 
much  good  may  it  do  him  !  Why  has  he  not  gone  back  to 
his  law  and  his  reviewing  ? 


340  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

"  You  must  —  you  7?iust  stay  on  a  little  longer.  You  have 
only  been  here  five  clays.  Do,  Charlotte,  ask  Philip  to  stay 
a  little." 

All  the  children  sing  in  a  chorus,  "  Oh,  do,  Uncle  Philip, 
stay  a  little  longer  !"  Miss  Baynes  says,  "  I  hope  you  will 
stay,  Mr.  Firmin,"  and  looks  at  him. 

"Five  days  has  he  been  here?  Five  years.  Five  lives. 
Five  hundred  years.  What  do  you  mean  ?  In  that  little 
time  of  —  let  me  see,  a  hundred  and  twenty  hours,  and,  at 
least,  a  half  of  them  for  sleep  and  dinner  (for  Philip's  appe- 
tite was  very  fine)  —  do  you  mean  that  in  that  little  time, 
his  heart  cruelly  stabbed  by  a  jjrevious  monster  in  female 
shape,  has  healed,  got  quite  well,  and  actually  begun  to  be 
wounded  again  ?  Have  two  walks  on  the  pier,  as  many 
visits  to  the  Tintelleries  (where  he  hears  the  story  of  the 
Highlanders  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  with  respectful 
interest),  a  word  or  two  about  the  weather,  a  look  or  two,  a 
squeezekin,  perhaps,  of  a  little  handy  kin — I  say,  do  you 
mean  that  this  absurd  young  idiot,  and  that  little  round- 
faced  girl,  pretty,  certainl}^,  but  only  just  out  of  the  school- 
room—  do  you  mean  to  say  that  they  have —  Upon  my 
word,  Laura,  this  is  too  bad.  Why,  Philip  has  not  a  penny 
piece  in  the  world." 

"  Yes,  he  has  a  hundred  pounds,  and  expects  to  sell  his 
mare  for  ninety  at  least.  He  has  excellent  talents.  He 
can  easily  write  three  articles  a  week  in  the  Pall  Hall  Ga- 
zette. I  am  sure  no  one  writes  so  well,  and  it  is  much  better 
done  and  more  amusing  than  it  used  to  be.  That  is  three 
hundred  a  year.  Lord  Ringwood  must  be  applied  to,  and 
must  and  shall  get  him  something.  Don't  you  know  that 
Captain  Baynes  stood  by  Colonel  Kingwood's  side  at  Busaco, 
and  that  they  were  the  closest  friends  ?  And  pray  how  did 
tve  get  on,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  How  did  tue  get  on, 
baby  ?  " 

"  How  did  we  det  on  ?  "  says  the  baby. 

"  Oh,  woman  !  woman  !  "  yells  the  father  of  the  family. 
"Why,  Philip  Firmin  has  all  the  habits  of  a  rich  man  with 
the  pay  of  a  mechanic.  Do  you  suppose  he  ever  sat  in  a 
second-class  carriage  in  his  life,  or  denied  himself  any  pleas- 
ure to  which  he  had  a  mind  ?  He  gave  five  francs  to  a 
beggar-girl  yesterday." 

"He  had  always  a  noble  heart,"  said  my  wife.  "He 
gave  a  fortune  to  a  whole  family  a  week  ago ;  and " 
(out  comes  the  pocket-handkerchief  —  oh,  of    course,  the 


ON  HIS    WAY  TIIROUGH   THE    WORLD.        341 

pocket-liandkercliief)  —  "and — 'God  loves  a  cheerful 
giver  ! '  " 

"  He  is  careless  ;  he  is  extravagant ;  he  is  lazy  ;  —  I  don't 
know  that  he  is  remarkably  clever  —  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  he  is  your  friend,  of  course.  Xow,  abuse  him 
—  do,  Arthur  !  " 

"  And,  pray,  when  did  you  become  acquainted  with  this 
astounding  piece  of  news  ?  "  I  inquire. 

"  When  ?  From  the  very  first  moment  when  I  saw 
Charlotte  looking  at  him,  to  be  sure.  The  poor  child  said 
to  me  only  yesterday,  '  Oh,  Laura !  he  is  our  preserver ! ' 
And  their  preserver  he  has  been,  under  Heaven." 

'•  Yes.     But  he  has  not  got  a  five-pound  note  !  "  I  cry. 

"Arthur,  I  am  surprised  at  you.  Oh,  men  are  awfully 
worldly  !  Do  3'ou  suppose  Heaven  Avill  not  send  him  help 
at  its  good  time,  and  be  kind  to  him  who  has  rescued  so 
many  from  ruin  ?  Do  you  su|)pose  the  prayers,  the  bless- 
ings of  that  father,  of  those  little  ones,  of  that  dear  child 
will  not  avail  him  ?  Suppose  he  has  to  wait  a  year,  ten 
years,  have  they  not  time,  and  will  not  the  good  day  come  ?  " 

Yes.  This  was  actually  the  talk  of  a  woman  of  sense 
and  discernment,  when  her  prejudices  and  romance  were 
not  in  the  way,  and  she  looked  forward  to  the  marriage 
of  these  folks  some  ten  j^ears  hence,  as  confidently  as  if 
they  Avere  both  rich,  and  going  to  St.  George's  to-morrow. 

As  for  making  a  romantic  stor}^  of  it,  or  spinning  out  love 
conversations  between  Jenny  and  Jessamy,  or  describing 
moonlight  raptures  and  passionate  outpourings  of  two 
young  hearts  and  so  forth  —  excuse  me,  s^il  vo2(s  ^:>ZfnY.  I 
am  a  man  of  the  world,  and  of  a  certain  age.  Let  the 
young  people  fill  in  this  outline,  and  color  it  as  they  please. 
Let  the  old  folks  who  read  lay  down  the  book  a  minute, 
and  remember.  It  is  well  remembered,  isn't  it,  that  time  ? 
Yes,  good  John  Anderson,  and  ]\Irs.  John.  Yes,  good 
Darby  and  Joan.  The  lips  won't  tell  now  what  they  did 
once.  To-day  is  for  the  happy,  and  to-morrow  for  the 
young,  and  yesterday,  is  not  that  dear  and  here  too  ? 

I  Avas  in  the  company  of  an  elderly  gentleman,  not  very 
long  since,  who  was  perfectly  sober,  who  is  not  particularly 
handsome,  or  healthy,  or  wealth}^,  or  witty;  and  who, 
speaking  of  his  past  life,  volunteered  to  declare  that  he 
would  gladly  live  every  minute  of  it  over  again.  Is  a  man 
who  can  sa}'  that  a  hardened  sinner,  not  aware  how  miser- 
able he  ought  to  be  by  rights,  and  therefore  really  in   a 


342  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

most  desperate  and  deplorable  condition;  or  is  lie  fort  imatus 
nu/iluin,  and  ought  his  statue  to  be  put  up  in  the  most 
splendid  and  crowded  thoroughfare  of  the  town  ?  Would 
you,  who  are  reading  this,  for  example,  like  to  live  you?' 
life  over  again  ?  What  has  been  its  chief  joy  ?  What 
are  to-day's  pleasures  ?  Are  they  so  exquisite  that  you 
would  prolong  them  forever.  Would  you  like  to  have  the 
roast  beef  on  which  you  have  dined  brought  back  again  to 
the  table,  and  have  more  beef,  and  more,  and  more  ? 
Would  you  like  to  hear  yesterday's  sermon  over  and  over 
again  —  eternally  voluble  ?  Would  you  like  to  get  on  the 
Edinburgh  mail,  and  travel  outside  for  fifty  hours  as  you 
did  in  your  youth.  You  might  as  well  say  you  would  like 
to  go  into  the  flogging-room,  and  take  a  turn  under  the 
rods  :  you  would  like  to  be  thrashed  over  again  by  your 
bully  at  school :  you  would  like  to  go  to  the  dentist's, 
where  your  dear  parents  were  in  the  habit  of  taking  you  : 
you  would  like  to  be,  taking  hot  Epsom  salts,  with  a  piece 
of  dry  bread  to  take  away  the  taste :  you  would  like  to  be 
jilted  by  your  first  love  :  you  would  like  to  be  going  in  to 
your  father  to  tell  him  you  had  contracted  debts  to  the 
amount  of  x-{-i/-\-z,  whilst  you  were  at  the  university.  As 
I  consider  the  passionate  griefs  of  childhood,  the  weariness 
and  sameness  of  shaving,  the  agony  of  corns,  and  the 
thousand  other  ills  to  which  flesh  is  heir,  I  cheerfully  say 
for  one,  I  am  not  anxious  to  wear  it  forever.  No.  I  do 
not  want  to  go  to  school  again.  I  do  not  want  to  hear 
Trotnian's  sermon  over  again.  Take  me  out  and  finish  me. 
Give  me  the  cup  of  hemlock  at  once.  Here's  a  health  to 
you,  my  lads.  Don't  weep,  my  Simmias.  Be  cheerful,  my 
Phsedon.  Ha!  I  feel  the  co-o-old  stealing,  stealing  up- 
wards. Now  it  is  in  my  ankles  —  no  more  gout  in  my  foot : 
now  my  knees  are  numb.  What,  is  —  is  that  poor  execu- 
tioner crying  too  ?  Good-by.  Sacrifice  a  cock  to  ^^scu — 
to  ^scula —  .  .  .  Have  you  ever  read  the  chapter  in 
"  Grote's  History  "  ?  Ah  !  When  the  Sacred  Ship  returns 
from  Delos,  and  is  telegraphed  as  entering  into  port,  may 
we  be  at  peace  and  ready  ! 

What  is  this  funeral  chant,  when  the  pipes  should  be 
playing  gayly  as  Love,  and  Youth,  and  Spring,  and  Joy  are 
dancing  under  the  windows  ?  Look  you.  Men  not  so  wise 
as  Socrates  have  their  demons,  Avho  v.all  be  heard  to 
Avhisper  in  the  queerest  times  and  places.  Perhaps  I  shall 
have  to   tell  of    a  funeral   presently,  and  shall   be  outra- 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        343 

geously  cheerful ;  or  of  an  execution,  and  shall  split  my 
sides  with  laughing.  Arrived  at  my  time  of  life,  when  I 
see  a  penniless  young  friend  falling  in  love  and  thinking  of 
course  of  committing  matrimony,  what  can  I  do  but  be 
melancholy  ?  How  is  a  man  to  marry  wdio  has  not  enough 
to  keep  ever  so  miniature  a  brougham — ever  so  small  a 
house  —  not  enough  to  keep  himself,  let  alone  a  wife  and 
family  ?  Gracious  powers !  is  it  not  blasphemy  to  marry 
Avithout  fifteen  hundred  a  year  ?  Poverty,  debt,  protested 
bills,  duns,  crime,  fall  assuredly  on  the  wretch  who  has  not 
fifteen  —  say  at  once  two  thousand  a  year;  for  you  can't 
live  decently  in  London  for  less.  And  a  wife  whom  you 
have  met  a  score  of  times  at  balls  or  breakfasts,  and  with 
her  best  dresses  and  behavior  at  a  country  house ;  —  how 
do  you  know  how  she  will  turn  out ;  what  her  temper  is  ; 
what  her  relations  are  likely  to  be  ?  Suppose  she  has  poor 
relations,  or  loud  coarse  brothers  who  are  always  dropping 
in  to  dinner  ?  What  is  her  mother  like  ?  and  can  you 
bear  to  have  that  woman  meddling  and  domineering  over 
your  establishment  ?  Old  General  Baynes  was  very  well ; 
a  Aveak,  qniet,  and  presentable  old  man  :  but  jNIrs.  General 
Baynes,  and  that  awful  Mrs.  jMajor  MacWhirter,  —  and 
those  hobbledelioys  of  boys  in  creaking  shoes,  hectoring 
about  the  premises  ?  As  a  man  of  the  world  I  saw  all 
these  dreadful  liabilities  impending  over  the  husband  of 
Miss  Charlotte  Baynes,  and  could  not  view  them  without 
horror.  Gracefully  and  slightly,  but  wittily  and  in  my 
sarcastic  way,  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  show  up  the  oddities 
of  the  Baynes  family  to  Philip.  I  mimicked  the  boySj  and 
their  clumping  Blucher  boots.  I  touched  off  the  dreadful 
military  ladies,  very  smartly  and  cleverly  as  I  thought,  and 
as  if  I  never  sup])osed  that  Philip  had  any  idea  of  Miss 
Baynes.  To  do  him  justice,  he  laughed  once  or  twice ; 
then  he  grew  very  red.  His  sense  of  humor  is  very 
limited ;  that  even  Laura  allows.  Then  he  came  out  with 
a  strong  expression,  and  said  it  was  a  confounded  shame, 
and  strode  off  with  his  cigar.  And  when  I  remarked  to 
my  wife  how  susceptible  he  was  in  some  things,  and  how 
little  in  the  matter  of  joking,  she  shrugged  her  shoulders 
and  said,  ''Philip  not  only  understood  perfectly  well  what 
I  said,  but  would  tell  it  all  to  Mrs.  General  and  INIrs. 
Major  on  the  first  opportunity."  And  this  was  the  fact,  as 
Mrs.  Baynes  took  care  to  tell  me  afterivards.  She  was 
aAvare   who   was   her   enemij.     She  was  aware   who  spoke 


344  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

ill  of  her  and  lier  blessed  darling  hehlnd  our  harl's.  And 
'•  Do  you  think  it  was  to  see  ijoa  or  any  one  belonging 
to  your  stuck-up  liouse,  sir,  that  we  came  to  you  so 
often,  which  we  certainly  did,  day  and  night,  break- 
fast and  supper,  and  no  thanks  to  you?  No,  sir  !  ha,  ha !  " 
I  can  see  her  flaunting  out  of  my  sitting-room  as  she 
speaks,  with  a  strident  laugh,  and  snapping  her  dingily 
gloved  fingers  at  the  door.  Oh,  Philip,  Philip  !  To  think 
that  3^ou  were  such  a  coward  as  to  go  and  tell  her !  But 
I  pardon  him.     Prom  my  heart  I  pity  and  pardon  him. 

Por  the  step  which  he  is  meditating  3'ou  may  be  sure  that 
the  young  man  himself  does  not  feel  the  smallest  need  of 
pardon  or  pity.  He  is  in  a  state  of  happiness  so  crazy  that 
it  is  useless  to  reason  with  him.  Not  being  at  all  of  a 
poetical  turn  originally,  the  wretch  is  actually  perpetrating 
verse  in  secret,  and  my  servants  found  fragments  of  his 
manuscript  on  the  dressing-table  in  his  bedroom.  Heart 
and  art,  sever  and  forever,  and  so  on ;  what  stale  rhymes 
are  these  !  I  do  not  feel  at  liberty  to  give  in  entire  the 
poem  which  our  maid  found  in  Mr.  Philii)'s  room,  and 
brought  sniggering  to  my  wife,  wdio  only  said,  "Poor 
thing  ! "  The  fact  is,  it  was  too  pitiable.  Such  maunder- 
ing rubbish  !  Such  stale  rhymes,  and  such  old  thoughts  ! 
But  then,  says  Laura,  "  I  dare  say  all  people's  love-making 
is  not  amusing  to  their  neighbors ;  and  I  know  who  wrote 
not  very  wise  love-verses  when  he  w^as  young."  Xo,  T 
w^on't  publish  Philip's  verses,  until  some  day  he  shall 
mortally  offend  me.  I  can  recall  some  of  my  own  written 
under  similar  circumstances  with  twinges  of  shame ;  and 
shall  drop  a  veil  of  decent  friendship  over  my  friend's 
folly. 

Under  that  veil,  meanwhile,  the  young  man  is  perfectly 
contented,  nay,  uproariously  happy.  All  earth  and  nature 
smiles  round  about  him.  "  AYlien  Jove  meets  his  Juno,  in 
Homer,  sir,"  says  Philip,  in  his  hectoring  way,  "don't 
immortal  flowers  of  beauty  spring  up  round  them,  and 
rainbows  of  celestial  hues  bend  over  their  heads  ?  Love, 
sir,  flings  a  halo  round  the  loved  one.  Where  she  moves 
rise  roses,  hyacinths,  and  ambrosial  odors.  Don't  talk  to 
me  about  poverty,  sir !  He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much 
or  his  desert  is  small,  who  dares  not  put  it  to  the  touch  and 
wdn  or  lose  it  all !  Haven't  T  endured  poverty  ?  Am  I  not 
as  poor  now  as  a  man  can  be  —  and  what  is  there  in  it  ? 
Do  I  want  for  anything  ?     Haven't  I  got  a  guinea  in  my 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WOULD.        345 

pocket  ?  Do  I  owe  any  man  anything  ?  Isn't  there 
manna  in  the  wihlerness  for  those  who  have  faith  to  walk 
in  it  ?  That's  where  yon  fail,  Pen.  By  all  that  is  sacred, 
yon  have  no  faith ;  3'onr  heart  is  cowardly,  sir ;  and  if  yon 
are  to  escape,  as  perhaps  yon  may,  1  snspect  it  is  by  your 
wife  that  yon  will  be  saved.  Lanra  has  a  trust  in  heav^en, 
but  Arthur's  morals  are  a  genteel  atheism.  Just  reach  me 
that  claret  —  the  wine's  not  bad.  I  say  your  morals  are  a 
genteel  atheism,  and  I  shudder  when  I  think  of  your  con- 
dition. Talk  to  vie  about  a  brougham  being  necessary  for 
the  comfort  of  a  woman  !  A  broomstick  to  ride  to  the 
moon  I  And  I  don't  sa}'  that  a  brougham  is  not  a  comfort, 
mind  you;  but  that,  when  it  is  a  necessity,  mark  you, 
heaven  will  provide  it !  Why,  sir,  hang  it,  look  at  me ! 
Ain't  I  suffering  in  the  most  abject  poverty  ?  I  ask  you  is 
there  a  man  in  London  so  poor  as  T  am  ?  And  since  my 
father's  ruin  do  I  want  for  anything?  I  want  for  shelter 
for  a  day  or  two.  Good.  There's  my  dear  Little  Sister 
ready  to  give  it  me.  I  want  for  money.  Does  not  that 
sainted  widow's  cruse  pour  its  oil  out  for  me  ?  Heaven 
bless  and  reward  her.  Boo !  "  (Here,  for  reasons  which 
need  not  be  named,  the  orator  squeezes  his  fists  into  his 
eyes.)  "  I  want  shelter  ;  ain't  I  in  good  quarters  ?  I  want 
work;  haven't  I  got  work,  and  did  you  not  get  it  for  me? 
You  should  just  see,  sir,  how  I  polished  off  tliat  book  of 
travels  this  morning.     I  read  some  of  the  article  to  Char — , 

to  Miss ,  to  some  friends,  in  fact.     I  don't  mean  to  say 

that  they  are  ver}^  intellectual  people,  but  your  common 
humdrum  average  audience  is  the  public  to  try.  Recollect 
Moliere  and  his  housekeeper,  you  know." 

"  By  the  housekeeper,  do  you  mean  Mrs.  Baynes  ?  "  I 
ask,  in  my  amonflllado  manner.  (l^>y  the  way,  who  ever 
heard  of  amontlllado  in  the  early  days  of  which  I  write  ?) 
"  In  manner  she  would  do,  and  I  dare  say  in  accomplish- 
ments ;  but  I  donbt  about  her  temper." 

"  You're  almost  as  worldly  as  the  Twysdens,  by  George, 
you  are  !  Unless  persons  are  of  a  certain  monde,  yon  don't 
value  them.  A  little  adversity  would  do  you  good.  Pen  ; 
and  I  heartily  wish  you  might  get  it,  except  for  the  dear 
wife  and  children.  You  measure  your  morality  by  May 
Fair  standards ;  and  if  an  angel  unawares  came  to  you  in 
pattens  and  a  cotton  umbrella,  you  would  turn  away  from 
her.  Yoit  would  never  have  found  out  the  Little  Sister.  A 
duchess  —  God    bless   her !     A  creature    of     an    imperial 


346  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

generosity,  and  delicaey,  and  intrepidity,  and  the  finest 
sense  of  Immor ;  but  she  drops  lier  A's  often,  and  how 
could  you  pardon  such  a  crime  ?  Sir,  you  are  my  better  in 
wit  and  a  dexteroas  application  of  your  powers  ;  but  I 
think,  sir,"  says  Phil,  curling  the  flaming  moustache,  "I 
am  your  superior  in  a  certain  magnanimity  ;  though,  by 
Jove,  old  felloW;  man  and  boy,  you  have  always  been  one 
of  the  best  fellows  in  the  world  to  P.  F. ;  one  of  the  best 
fellows,  and  the  most  generous,  and  the  most  cordial, — 
that  you  have :  only  you  do  rile  me  when  you  sing  in  that 
confounded  May  Fair  twang." 

Here  one  of  the  children  summoned  us  to  tea  —  and 
^^Papa  was  laughing,  and  Uncle  Philip  was  flinging  his 
hands  about  and  pulling  his  beard  off,"  said  the  little 
messenger. 

^''I  shall  keep  a  fine  lock  of  it  for  you,  Nelly,  my  dear," 
says  Uncle  Philip.  On  which  the  child  said,  "  Oh,  no !  I 
know  whom  you'll  give  it  to,  don't  I,  mamma  ?  "  and  she 
goes  up  to  her  mamma  and  whispers. 

Miss  Nelly  knows  ?  At  what  age  do  those  little  match- 
makers begin  to  know,  and  how  soon  do  they  practise  the 
use  of  their  young  eyes,  their  little  smiles,  wiles,  and  ogles  ? 
This  young  woman,  I  believe,  coquetted  whilst  she  Avas  yet 
a  baby  in  arms,  over  her  nurse's  shoulder.  Before  she 
could  speak,  she  could  be  proud  of  her  new  vermilion 
shoes,  and  would  point  out  the  charms  of  her  blue  sash. 
She  was  jealous  in  the  nursery,  and  her  little  heart  had 
beat  for  years  and  years  before  she  left  off  pinafores. 

For  whom  will  Philip  keep  a  lock  of  that  red,  red  gold 
which  curls  round  his  face  ?  Can  you  guess  ?  Of  what 
color  is  the  hair  in  that  locket  which  the  gentleman  him- 
self occultly  wears  ?  A  few  months  ago,  I  believe,  a  pale 
straw-colored  wisp  of  hair  occupied  that  place  of  honor ; 
now  it  is  a  chestnut-brown,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  of  precisely 
the  same  color  as  that  which  waves  round  Charlotte 
Baynes's  pretty  face,  and  tuml)les  in  clusters  on  her 
neck,  very  nearly  the  color  of  Mrs.  Paynter's  this  last 
season.  So,  you  see,  we  chop  and  we  change  ;  straw  gives 
place  to  chestnut,  and  chestnut  is  succeeded  by  ebony ; 
and,  for  our  own  parts,  we  defy  time ;  and  if  you  want  a 
lock  of  my  hair,  Belinda,  take  this  pair  of  scissors,  and 
look  in  that  cupboard,  in  the  bandbox  marked  No.  3,  and 
cut  off  a  thick  glossy  piece,  darlinq^,  and  wear  it,  dear, 
and  my  blessings    go  with  thee !     What  is  this  ?     Am  I 


ON  ins    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        347 

sneering  because  Coiydon  and  Phyllis  are  wooing  and 
happy  ?  You  see  I  pledged  myself  not  to  have  any  senti- 
mental nonsense.  To  describe  love-making  is  immoral  and 
immodest ;  you  know  it  is.  To  describe  it  as  it  really  is, 
or  would  appear  to  you  and  me  as  lookers-on,  would  be  to 
describe  the  most  dreary  farce,  to  chronicle  the  most  tau- 
tological twaddle.  To  take  a  note  of  sighs,  hand-squeezes, 
looks  at  the  moon,  and  so  forth  —  does  this  business 
become  our  dignity  as  historians  ?  Come  away  from  those 
foolish  young  people  —  they  don't  want  us;  and  dreary  as 
their  farce  is,  and  tautological  as  tlieir  twaddle,  you  may 
be  sure  it  amuses  them,  and  that  they  are  happy  enough 
without  us.  Happy  ?  Is  there  any  happiness  like  it, 
jDray  ?  Was  it  not  rapture  to  watch  the  messenger,  to  seize 
the  note,  and  fee  the  bearer  ?  —  to  retire  out  of  sight  of  all 
prying  eyes,  and  read  :  —  "  Dearest !  Mamma's  cold  is  bet- 
ter this  morning.  The  Joneses  came  to  tea,  and  Julia 
sang.  1  did  hot  enjoy  it,  as  my  dear  was  at  his  horrid 
dinner,  where  I  hope  he  amused  himself.  Send  me  a  word 
by  Buttles,  who  brings  this,  if  only  to  say  you  are  your 
Louisa's  own,  own,"  &c.,  &c.,  &c.  That  used  to  be  the  kind 
of  thing.  In  such  coy  lines  artless  Innocence  used  to 
whisper  its  little  vows.  So  she  used  to  smile  ;  so  she  used 
to  warble ;  so  she  used  to  prattle.  Young  people,  at  pres- 
ent engaged  in  the  pretty  sport,  be  assured  your  middle- 
aged  parents  have  played  the  game,  and  remember  the 
rules  of  it.  Y^es,  under  papa's  bow-window^  of  a  w^aistcoat 
is  a  heart  which  took  very  violent  exercise  when  that 
waist  was  slim.  Now  he  sits  tranquilly  in  his  tent,  and 
watches  the  lads  going  in  for  their  innings.  AYhy,  look  at 
grandmamma  in  her  spectacles  reading  that  sermon.  In 
lier  old  heart  there  is  a  corner  as  romantic  still  as  when 
she  used  to  read  the  "AYild  Irish  Girl"  or  the  "Scottish 
Chiefs"  in  the  days  of  her  misshood.  And  as  for  your 
grandfather,  my  dears,  to  see  him  now  you  would  little 
suppose  that  that  calm,  polished,  dear  old  gentleman  was 
once  as  wild  —  as  wild  as  Orson.  .  .  .  Under  my  Avindows, 
as  I  write,  there  passes  an  itinerant  flower-merchant.  He 
has  his  roses  and  geraniums  on  a  cart  drawn  by  a  quad- 
ruped—  a  little  long-eared  quadruped,  which  lifts  up  its 
voice,  and  sings  after  its  manner.  When  I  was  young, 
donkeys  used  to  bray  precisely  in  the  same  w^ay ;  and 
others  will  heehaw  so,  when  w^e  are  silent  and  our  ears 
hear  no  more. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


DRUM    TST  S    SO    WOHL    MIR    IN    DER    WELT. 


UR  new  friends  lived 
for  a  while  contentedly 
enough  at  Boulogne, 
where  they  found  com- 
rade s  and  acquaint- 
ances gathered  together 
from  those  many  re- 
gions wjiich  they  had 
visited  in  the  course 
of  their  military 
career.  JNIrs.  Baynes, 
out  of  the  held,  was 
the  commanding  officer 
over  the  G-eneral.  She 
ordered  his  clothes  for 
him,  tied  his  neckcloth 
into  a  neat  bow,  and,  on  tpR-party  evenings,  pinned  his 
brooch  into  his  shirt-frill.  Slie  gave  him  to  understand 
when  he  had  had  enough  to  eat  or  drink  at  dinner,  and 
explained,  with  great  frankness,  how  this  or  that  dish  did 
not  agree  with  him.  If  he  was  disposed  to  exceed,  she 
would  call  out,  in  a  loud  voice :  "  Remember,  G-eneral, 
Avhat  you  took  this  morning!"  Knowing  his  constitution, 
as  she  said,  she  knew  the  remedies  which  were  necessary 
for  her  husband,  and  administered  them  to  him  with  great 
liberality.  Resistance  was  impossible,  as  the  veteran 
officer  acknowledged.  "The  boys  have  fought  about  the 
medicine  since  we  came  home,"  he  confessed,  "  but  she 
has  me  under  her  thumb,  by  George.  She  really  is  a  mag- 
nificent physician,  now.  She  has  got  some  invaluable  pre- 
scriptions, and  in  India  she  used  to  doctor  the  whole 
station."  She  would  have  taken  the  present  writer's  little 
household  under  her  care,  and  proposed  several  remedies 
for  my  children,  until  their  alarmed  mother  was    obliged 

348 


THE   ADVENTURES   OE  PHILIP.  349 

to  keep  tlieri  out  of  lier  sight.  I  am  not  saying  this  was 
an  agreeable  woman.  Her  voice  was  loud  and  harsh. 
The  anecdotes  which  she  was  forever  narrating  related 
to  military  personages  in  foreign  countries  with  whom  I 
was  unacquainted,  and  whose  history  failed  to  interest  me. 
She  took  her  wine  with  much  spirit,  whilst  engaged  in  this 
prattle.  I  have  heard  talk  not  less  foolish  in  much  finer 
company,  and  known  people  delighted  to  listen  to  anec- 
dotes of  the  duchess  and  the  marchioness  who  would  yawn 
over  the  history  of  Captain  Jones's  quarrels  with  his  lady, 
or  ]\rrs.  Major  Wolfe's  monstrous  flirtations  with  young 
Ensign  Kyd.  My  wife,  with  the  mischievousness  of  her 
sex,  would  mimic  the  Baynes's  conversation  very  drolly, 
but  always  insisted  that  she  was  not  more  really  vulgar 
than  many  much  greater  persons. 

For  all  this,  ]Mrs.  General  Baynes  did  not  hesitate  to 
declare  that  we  were  "  stuck-up "  people ;  and  from  the 
very  first  setting  eyes  on  us  she  declared  that  she  viewed 
us  with  a  constant  darkling  suspicion,  Mrs.  P.  was  a 
harmless,  washed-out  creature,  and  nothing  in  her.  As  for 
that  high  and  mighty  Mr.  P.  and  his  airs,  she  would  be 
glad  to  know  whether  the  wife  of  the  British  general 
officer  who  had  seen  service  in  every  xjart  of  the  (jlohe,  and 
met  the  most  cUst'ituji'ished  governors,  generals,  and  their 
ladies,  several  of  whom  were  noblemen  —  she  would  be  glad 
to  know  whether  such  people  were  not  good  enough  for,  &c., 
&c.  Who  has  not  met  with  these  difficulties  in  life,  and 
who  can  escape  them?  "Hang  it,  sir,"  Phil  would  say, 
twirling  the  red  moustache,  "I  like  to  be  hated  by  some 
fellows  " ;  and  it  must  be  owned  that  Mr.  Philip  got  what 
he  liked.  I  suppose  Mr.  Philip's  friend  and  biographer 
had  something  of  the  same  feeling.  At  any  rate,  in  regard 
of  this  lady  the  hypocrisy  of  politeness  was  very  hard  to 
keep  up ;  wanting  us  for  reasons  of  her  own,  she  covered 
the  dagger  with  which  she  would  have  stabbed  us  :  but  we 
knew  it  was  there  clenched  in  her  skinny  hand  in  her 
meagre  pocket.  She  would  pay  us  the  most  fulsome  com- 
pliments with  anger  raging  out  of  her  eyes  —  a  little  hate- 
iDcaring  woman,  envious,  malicious,  but  loving  her  cubs, 
and  nursing  them,  and  clutching  them  in  her  lean  arms 
with  a  jealous  strain.  It  was  "Good-by,  darling!  I  shall 
leave  you  here  with  your  friends.  Oh,  how  kind  you  are 
to  her,  l\[rs.  Pendennis  !  How  can  I  ever  thank  you,  and 
Mr.  P.,  I  am  sure ; "  and  she  looked  as  if  she  could  poison 


350  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

both    of   us,  as  she  went   away,  courtesying   and   darting 
dreary  parting  smiles. 

This  lady  had  an  intimate  friend  and  companion  in  arms, 
]\Irs.  Colonel  Bunch,  in  fact,  of  the  — th  Bengal  Cavalry, . 
who  was  now  in  Europe  with  Bunch  and   their  children, 
w^ho  were  residing  at  Paris  for  the  young  folks'  education. 
At  first,  as  Ave  have  heard,  Mrs.  Baynes's  predilections  liad 
been  all  for  Tours,  where  her  sister  was  living,  and  where 
lodgings  were    cheap  and  food    reasonable    in  proportion. 
But  Bunch  happening  to  pass  through  Boulogne  on  his  way 
to  his  wife  at  Paris,  and  meeting  liis  old  comrade,  gave 
General   Baynes    such   an   account    of   the    cheapness  and 
pleasures  of  the  French  capital    as  to  induce  the  General 
to  think  of  bending  his  steps  thither.     Mrs.  Baynes  would 
not  hear  of  such  a  plan.     She  was  all  for  her  dear  sister 
and   Tours ;    but   when,    in    the    course    of    conversation. 
Colonel  Bunch  described  a  ball  at  the  Tuileries,  where  he 
and  Mrs.  B.  had   been    received  with  the  most  flattering 
politeness  by  the  royal  family,  it  was  remarked  that  Mrs. 
Baynes's  mind  underwent  a  change.     AYhen  Bunch  went 
on   to   aver   that  the  balls  at  the   Government   House   at 
Calcutta  were  nothing  compared  to  those  at  the  Tuileries 
or   the    Prefecture    of   the   Seine;    that  the    Engli&h  were 
invited  and  respected  everywhere  ;  that  the  ambassador  was 
most  hospitable ;   that  the  clergymen  were  admirable  ;  and 
that  at  their  boarding-house,  kept  by  Madame  la  Gencrale 
Baronne  de  Smolensk,  at  the   ''Petit  Chateau  d'Espagne," 
Avenue  de  Valmy,  Champs  Elysees,  they  had  balls  twice  a 
month,  the  most  comfortable  apartments,  the  most  clioice 
society,  and  every  comfort  and  luxury  at  so  many  francs 
per  month,   with  an  allowance  for   children  —  I  say  Mrs. 
Baynes  was  very  greatly  moved.     "  It  is  not,"  she  said,  "  in 
consequence  of  the  balls  at  the  Ambassador's  or  the  Tuiler- 
ies, for  I  am  an  old  woman  ;  and  in  spite  of  what  you  say. 
Colonel,  I  can't  fancy,  after  Government  House,  anything 
more  magnificent  in  any  Erencli  palace.     It  is  not  for  vie, 
goodness  knows,  I  speak :    but  the  children    should  have 
education,  and  my  Charlotte  an  entree  into  the  world ;  and 
what   you    say    of   the    invaluable    clergyman,    Mr.    X.,    I 
have  been  thinking  of  it  all  night;    but  above   all,  above 
all,  of  the  chances  of  education  for  my  darlings.     Kothing 
should  give  way  to  that  —  nothing!"     On  this  a  long  and 
delightful  conversation  and  calculation  took  place.     Bunch 
produced  his  bills  at  the   Baroness  de  Smolensk's.     The 


ON  HJS    WAV   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        351 

two  gentlemen  jotted  up  accounts,  and  made  calculations 
all  through  the  evening.  It  was  hard  even  for  Mrs. 
Baynes  to  force  the  figures  into  such  a  shape  as  to  make 
them  accord  with  the  General's  income  ;  but,  driven  away 
by  one  calculation  after  another,  she  returned  again  and 
again  to  the  charge,  until  she  overcame  the  stubborn  arith- 
metical difficulties--,  and  the  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence 
lay  prostrate  before  her.  They  could  save  upon  this  point; 
they  could  screw  upon  that ;  they  viiist  make  a  sacrifice  to 
educate  the  children.  "  Sarah  Bunch  and  her  girls  go  to 
Court,  indeed !  Why  shouldn't  mine  go  ?  "  she  asked.  On 
which  her  General  said,  '•  By  George,  Eliza,  that's  the  point 
you  are  thinking  of."  On  which  Eliza  said  "No,"  and 
repeated  "  Xo  "  a  score  of  times,  growing  more  angry  as  she 
uttered  each  denial.  And  she  declared  before  heaven  she 
did  not  want  to  go  to  any  Court.  Had  she  not  refused  to 
be  presented  at  home,  though  Mrs.  Colonel  Flack  went, 
because  she  did  not  choose  to  go  to  the  wicked  expense  of 
a  train  ?  And  it  was  base  of  the  General,  base  and  mean 
of  him  to  say  so.  And  there  was  a  hue  scene,  as  I  am 
given  to  understand  ;  not  that  I  was  present  at  this  family 
light :  but  my  informant  was  I^Ir.  Firmin ;  and  ^Ir. 
Firmin  had  his  information  from  a  little  person  who,  about 
this  time,  had  got  to  prattle  out  all  the  secrets  of  her 
young  heart  to  him ;  who  would  have  jumped  off  the  pier- 
head with  her  hand  in  his  if  he  had  said  "  Come,"  without 
his  hand  if  he  had  said  '•'  Go  "  :  a  little  person  whose  whole 
life  had  been  changed  —  changed  for  a  month  past  — 
changed  in  one  minute,  that  minute  when  she  saw  Philip's 
fiery  whiskers  and  heard  his  great  big  voice  saluting  her 
father  amongst  the  commissioners  on  the  quai  before  the 
custom-house. 

Tours  was,  at  any  rate,  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  farther 
off  than  Paris  from — from  a  city  where  a  3'oung  gentleman 
lived  in  whom  iSriss  Charlotte  Baynes  felt  an  interest; 
hence,  I  suppose,  arose  her  delight  that  her  parents  had 
determined  upon  taking  up  their  residence  in  the  larger 
and  nearer  city.  Besides,  she  owned,  in  the  course  of  her 
artless  confidences  to  my  wife,  that,  when  together,  mamma 
and  aunt  ^lacWhirter  quarrelled  unceasingly  ;  and  had  once 
caused  the  old  boys,  the  ^lajor  and  the  General,  to  call 
each  other  out.  ^She  preferred,  then,  to  live  away  from 
aunt  Mac.  She  had  never  had  such  a  friend  as  Laura, 
never.     She  had   never   been   so   happy   as   at   Boulogne, 


352  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

never.  She  should  always  love  everybody  in  our  house, 
that  she  should,  forever  and  ever  —  and  so  forth,  and  so 
forth.  The  ladies  meet ;  cling  together ;  osculations  are 
carried  round  the  whole  family  circle,  from  our  wondering 
eldest  boy,  who  cries,  "  I  say,  hullo  !  what  are  you  kissing 
me  so  about  ?  "  to  darling  baby,  crowing  and  unconscious 
in  the  rapturous  young  girl's  embraces.  I  tell  you,  these 
two  women  were  making  fools  of  themselves,  and  they 
were  burning  with  enthusiasm  for  the  "  preserver  "  of  the 
Baynes  family,  as  they  called  that  big  fellow  yonder,  whose 
biographer  I  have  aspired  to  be.  The  lazy  rogue  lay  bask- 
ing in  the  glorious  warmth  and  sunshine  of  early  love.  He 
would  stretch  his  big  limbs  out  in  our  garden ;  pour  out 
his  feelings  with  endless  volubility ;  call  upon  homlnum 
divumque  voViiptas,  ahna  Venus ;  vow  that  he  had  never 
lived  or  been  happy  until  now ;  declared  that  he  laughed 
poverty  to  scorn  and  all  lier  ills ;  and  fume  against  his 
masters  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  because  they  declined  to 
insert  certain  love-verses  which  Mr.  Philip  now  composed 
almost  every  day.  Poor  little  Charlotte  !  And  didst  thou 
receive  those  treasures  of  song;  and  wonder  over  them,  not 
perhaps  comprehending  them  altogether;  and  lock  them 
up  in  thy  heart's  inmost  casket  as  well  as  in  thy  little 
desk;  and  take  them  out  in  quiet  hours,  and  kiss  them, 
and  bless  heaven  for  giving  thee  such  jewels  ?  I  dare  say. 
I  can  fancy  all  this,  without  seeing  it.  I  can  read  the 
little  letters  in  the  little  desk,  without  picking  lock  or 
breaking  seal.  Poor  little  letters  !  Sometimes  they  are 
not  spelt  right,  quite ;  but  I  don't  know  that  the  style  is 
worse  for  that.  Poor  little  letters  !  You  are  flung  to  the 
winds  sometimes  and  forgotten  with  all  your  sweet  secrets 
and  loving  artless  confessions  ;  but  not  always  —  no,  not 
always.  As  for  Phili]:),  Avho  was  the  most  careless  creature 
alive,  and  left  all  his  clothes  and  haberdashery  sprawling  on 
his  bedroom  floor,  he  had  at  this  time  a  breast-pocket  stuffed 
out  with  papers  which  crackled  in  the  most  ridiculous  way. 
He  was  always  looking  down  at  this  precious  pocket,  and  put- 
ting one  of  his  great  hands  over  it  as  though  he  would 
guard  it.  The  pocket  did  not  contain  bank-notes,  you  may 
be  sure  of  that.  It  contained  documents  stating  that 
mamma's  cold  is  better ;  the  Joneses  came  to  tea,  and  eTulia 
sang,  &c.  Ah,  friend,  however  old  you  are  now,  however 
cold  you  are  now,  however  tough,  I  hope  you,  too,  remem- 
ber how  Julia  sang,  and  the  Joneses  came  to  tea. 


ox  HIS    WAY   "Jim  or  Gil   THE    ViORLD.        3c3 

]\rr.  Philip  stayed  on  week  after  week,  declaring  to  my 
wife  that  she  was  a  perfect  angel  for  keeping  him  so  long. 
Bunch  wrote  from  his  boarding-house  more  and  more  enthu- 
siastic reports  about  the  comforts  of  the  establishment. 
For  his  sake  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Smolensk  would  make 
unheard-of  sacrifices^  in  order  to  accommodate  the  General 
and  his  distinguished  party.  The  balls  were  going  to  be 
])erfectly  splendid  that  winter.  There  were  several  old 
Indians  living  near;  in  fact  they  could  form  a  regular  little 
club.  It  was  agreed  that  Ba^^nes  should  go  and  reconnoitre 
the  ground.  He  did  go.  Madame  de  Smolensk,  a  most 
elegant  woman,  had  a  magnificent  dinner  for  him  —  quite 
splendid,  I  give  you  my  word,  but  only  what  they  have 
every  day.  Soup,  of  course,  my  love ;  fish,  capital  wine, 
and,  I  should  say,  some  five  or  six  and  thirt}^  made  dishes. 
The  General  Avas  quite  enraptured.  Bunch  had  put  his 
boys  to  a  famous  school,  where  the}^  might  ''whop"  the 
French  boj'S,  and  learn  all  the  modern  languages.  The 
little  ones  would  dine  early ;  the  baroness  would  take 
the  whole  family  at  an  astouishingl}^  cheap  rate.  In  a 
word,  the  Baynes  column  got  the  route  for  Paris  shortly 
before  our  family-party  was  crossing  the  seas  to  return  to 
London  fogs  and  (hxtx. 

You  have,  no  doubt,  remarked  how,  under  certain  J:ender 
circumstances  women  will  help  one  another.  They  help 
where  they  ought  not  to  help.  When  Mr.  Darby  ought  to 
be  separated  from  ^liss  Joan,  and  the  best  thing  that  could 
happen  for  both  would  be  a  lettre  de  cachet  to  whip  off 
jMons.  Darby  to  the  Bastile  for  five  years,  and  an  order 
from  her  parents  to  lock  up  Mademoiselle  Jeanne  in  a 
convent,  some  aunt,  some  relative,  some  pitying  female 
friend  is  sure  to  be  found,  who  will  give  the  pair  a  chance 
of  meeting,  and  turn  her  head  away  whilst  those  unhappy 
lovers  are  warbling  endless  good-bys  close  up  to  each 
other's  ears.  M}'  wife,  I  have  said,  chose  to  feel  this 
absurd  sympathy  for  the  young  j^eople  about  whom  we 
have  been  just  talking.  As  the  days  for  Charlotte's 
departure  drew  near,  this  wretched,  misguiding  matron 
would  take  the  girl  out  walking  into  I  know  not  what 
unfrequented  bj^-lanes,  quiet  streets,  rampart-nooks,  and  the 
like:  and  la!  b}^  the  most  singular  coincidence,  Mr.  Philip's 
hulking  boots  would  assuredly  come  tramping  after  the 
Avomen's  little  feet.  AVhat  will  you  say,  when  I  tell  you, 
that  I  myself,  the  father  of  the  family,  the  renter  of  the 

VOL.    I.  —  '2?j 


354  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

old-fashioned  house,  Rue  Roucoule,  Haute  Ville,  Boulogne- 
sur-Mer  —  as  I  am  going  into  my  own  study — am  met  at 
the  threshokl  by  Helen,  my  eldest  daughter,  who  puts  her 
little  arms  before  the  glass  door  at  which  I  was  about  to 
enter,  and  says,  "  You  must  not  go  in  there,  papa !  Mamma 
says  we  none  of  us  are  to  go  in  there." 

"  And  why,  pray  ?  "     I  ask. 

''  Because  Uncle  Philip  and  Charlotte  are  talking  secrets 
there  ;  and  nobody  is  to  disturb  them  —  nobody  !  " 

Upon  my  word,  wasn't  this  too  monstrous  ?  Am  I  Sir 
Pandarus  of  Troy  become  ?  Am  I  going  to  allow  a  penni- 
less young  man  to  steal  away  the  heart  of  a  young  girl 
who  has  not  twopence  halfpenny  to  her  fortune  !  Shall  I, 
I  say,  lend  myself  to  this  most  unjustifiable  intrigue  ? 

"  Sir,"  says  my  wife  (we  happened  to  have  been  bred  up 
from  childhood  together,  and  I  own  to  have  had  one  or  two 
foolish  initiatory  flirtations  before  I  settled  down  to  matri- 
monial fidelity)  — "  Sir,"  says  she,  '^  when  you  were  so 
wild  —  so  spooney,  I  think  is  your  elegant  word  —  about 
Blanche,  and  used  to  put  letters  into  a  hollow  tree  for 
her  at  home,  I  used  to  see  the  letters,  and  I  never  dis- 
turbed them.  These  two  people  have  much  warmer  hearts, 
and  are  a  great  deal  fonder  of  each  other  than  you  and 
Blanche  used  to  be.  I  should  not  like  to  separate  Char- 
lotte from  Philip  now.  It  is  too  late,  sir.  She  can  never 
like  anybody  else  as  she  likes  him.  If  she  lives  to  be  a 
hundred,  she  will  never  forget  him.  Why  should  not  the 
poor  thing  be  happy  a  little,  while  she  may  ?  " 

An  old  house,  with  a  green  old  courtyard,  and  an  ancient 
mossy  wall,  through  breaks  of  which  I  can  see  the  roofs 
and  gables  of  the  quaint  old  town,  the  city  below,  th^ 
shining  sea,  and  the  white  English  cliffs  beyond;  a  green 
old  courtyard,  and  a  tall  old  stone  house  rising  up  in  it, 
grown  over  with  many  a  creeper  on  which  the  sun  casts 
flickering  shadows  ;  and  under  the  shadows,  and  through  the 
glass  of  a  tall  gray  window,  I  can  just  peep  into  a  brown 
twilight  parlor,  and  there  I  see  two  hazy  figures  by  a  table. 
One  slim  figure  has  brown  hair,  and  one  has  flame-colored 
whiskers.  Look,  a  ray  of  sunshine  has  just  peered  into 
the  room,  and  is  lighting  the  whiskers  up ! 

"Poor  little  thing,"  Avhispers  my  wife,  very  gently. 
"They  are  going  awa}^  to-morrow.  Let  them  have  their 
talk  out.  She  is  crving  her  little  eyes  out,  I  am  sure. 
Poor  little  Charlotte!" 


ox  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        Z:^o 

Whilst  my  wife  was  pitying  Miss  Charlotte  in  this 
pathetic  way,  and  was  going,  I  dare  say,  to  have  recourse 
to  her  own  pocket-handkerchief,  as  I  live  there  came  a 
burst  of  laughter  from  the  darkling  chamber  where  the 
two  lovers  were  billing  and  cooing.  First  came  IMr. 
Philip's  great  boom  (such  a  roar  —  such  a  haw-haw,  or 
hee-haw,  I  never  heard  any  other  ^?6'o-legged  animal  per- 
form). Then  follows  Miss  Charlotte's  tinkling  peal ;  and 
presently  that  young  person  comes  out  into  the  garden, 
with  her  round  face  not  bedewed  with  tears  at  all,  but  per- 
fectly rosy,  fresh,  dimpled,  and  good-humored.  Charlotte 
gives  me  a  little  courtesy,  and  my  wife  a  hand  and  a  kind 
glance.  They  retreat  through  the  open  casement,  twining 
round  each  other,  as  the  vine  does  round  the  window; 
though  which  is  the  vine  and  which  is  the  window  in  this 
simile,  I  pretend  not  to  say  —  I  can't  see  through  either  of 
them,  that  is  the  truth.  They  pass  through  the  ^^arlor, 
and  into  the  street  beyond,  doubtless :  and  as  for  Mr. 
Philip,  I  presently  see  his  head  popped  out  of  his  window 
in  the  upper  floor  with  his  great  pipe  in  his  mouth.  He 
can't  "work"  without  his  pipe,  he  says;  and  my  wife 
believes  him.     AVork,  indeed ! 

Miss  Charlotte  paid  us  another  little  visit  that  evening, 
when  we  happened  to  be  alone.  The  children  were  gone 
to  bed.  The  darlings  !  Charlotte  must  go  up  and  kiss 
them.  ]\Ir.  Philip  Firniin  was  out.  She  did  not  seem  to 
miss  him  in  the  least,  nor  did  she  make  a  single  inquiry 
for  him.  We  had  been  so  good  to  her  —  so  kind.  How 
should  she  ever  forget  our  great  kindness  ?  She  had  been 
so  happy  —  oh  !  so  happy  !  She  had  never  been  so  happy 
before.  She  would  write  often  and  often,  and  Laura  would 
write  constantly  —  wouldn't  she  ?  "  Yes,  dear  chid  !  "  says 
my  wife.  And  now  a  little  more  kissing,  and  it  is  time  to 
go  home  to  the  Tintelleries.  What  a  lovely  night !  Indeed 
the  moon  was  blazing  in  full  round  in  the  purple  heavens, 
and  the  stars  were  twinkling  by  myriads. 

"  Good-by,  dear  Charlotte  ;  happiness  go  with  you  !  "  I 
seize  her  hand.  I  feel  a  paternal  desire  to  kiss  her  fair, 
round  face.  Her  sweetness,  her  happiness,  her  artless 
good-humor  and  gentleness  has  endeared  her  to  us  all.  As 
for  me,  I  love  her  with  a  fatherly  affection.  '■'■  Stay,  my 
dear!"  I  cry,  with  a  happy  gallantry.  "I'll  go  home  with 
you  to  the  Tintelleries." 

You  should  have  seen  the  fair  round  face  then  !     Such  a 


35G  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

piteous  expression  came  over  it !  She  looked  at  my  wife; 
and  as  for  that  Mrs.  Laura,  she  pulled  the  tail  of  my  coat. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  dear  ?  "  I  ask. 

"Don't  go  out  on  such  a  dreadful  night.  You'll  catch 
cold  ! "  says  Laura. 

"  Cold,  my  love  !  "  I  say.  "  Why,  it's  as  fine  a  night  as 
ever  —  " 

"Oh!  you — you  stoop  id  !  ^^  says  Laura,  and  begins  to 
laugh.  And  there  goes  Miss  Charlotte  tripping  away  from 
us  without  a  word  more. 

Philip  came  in  about  half  an  hour  afterwards.  And  do 
you  know  I  very  strong!}-  suspect  that  he  had  been  waiting 
round  the  corner.  Few  things  escape  me,  you  see,  when  I 
have  a  mind  to  be  observant.  And,  certainly,  if  I  had 
thought  of  that  possibility  and  that  I  might  be  spoiling 
sport,  I  should  not  have  x)roposed  to  ]\Iiss  Charlotte  to 
walk  home  with  her. 

At  a  very  early  hour  on  the  next  morning  my  wife  arose, 
and  spent,  in  my  opinion,  a  great  deal  of  unprofitable  time, 
bread,  butter,  cold  beef,  mustard,  and  salt,  in  compiling  a 
heap  of  sandwiches,  which  were  tied  up  in  a  copy  of  the 
Pall  Mall  Gazette.  That  persistence  in  making  sand- 
wiches, in  providing  cakes  and  other  refreshments  for  a 
journey,  is  a  strange  infatuation  in  women ;  as  if  there 
was  not  always  enough  to  eat  to  be  had  at  road  inns  and 
railway  stations  !  What  a  good  dinner  we  used  to  have  at 
Montreuil  in  the  old  days,  before  railways  were,  and  when 
the  diligence  spent  four  or  six  and  twenty  cheerful  hours 
on  its  way  to  Paris  !  I  think  the  finest  dishes  are  not  to 
be  compared  to  that  well-remembered  fricandeau  of  j^outh, 
nor  do  wines  of  the  most  dainty  vintage  surpass  the  rough, 
honest,  blue  ordinaire  which  was  served  at  the  plenteous 
inn-table.  I  took  our  bale  of  sandwiches  down  to  the  ofhee 
of  the  Messageries,  whence  our  friends  were  to  start.  We 
saw  six  of  the  Baynes  family  packed  into  the  interior  of 
the  diligence  ;  and  the  boys  climb  cheerily  into  the  rotonde. 
Charlotte's  pretty  lips  and  hands  wafted  kisses  to  us  from 
her  corner.  Mrs.  General  Baynes  commanded  the  column, 
pushed  the  little  ones  into  their  places  in  the  ark,  ordered 
the  General  and  young  ones  hither  and  thither  with  her 
parasol,  declined  to  give  the  grumbling  porters  any  but  the 
smallest  gratuity,  and  talked  a  shrieking  jargon  of  French 
and  Hindustanee  to  the  people  assembled  round  the  car- 
riage.    My  wife  has  that  command  over  me  that  she  actu- 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH  THE    WOULD.        357 


-'rr^WWV'^f'ZK'wnni 


ally  made  me  demean  myself  so  far  as  to  deliver  tlie  sand- 
wich parcel  to  one  of  tlie  Baynes  boys.  I  said,  "  Take  this," 
and  the  poor  wretch  held  out  his  hand  eagerly,  evidently 
expecting  that  T  was  about  to  tip  him  witli  a  five-franc 
piece   or   some    such   coin.      Fouette,  cocJier !     The  horses 


358  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

squeal.  The  huge  machine  jingles  over  the  road,  and 
rattles  down  the  street.  Farewell,  pretty  Charlotte,  with 
your  sweet  face  and  sweet  voice  and  kind  eyes !  But, 
why,  prav,  is  Mr.  Philip  Firniin  not  here  to  say  farewell 
too? 

Before  the  diligence  got  under  way,  the  Baynes  boys  had 
fought,  and  quarrelled,  and  wanted  to  mount  on  the  imperial 
or  cabriolet  of  the  carriage,  where  there  was  only  one 
passenger  as  yet.  But  the  conductor  called  the  lads  oft", 
saying  that  the  remaining  place  was  engaged  by  a  gentle- 
man whom  they  were  to  take  up  on  the  road.  And  who 
should  this  turn  out  to  be  ?  Just  outside  the  town  a  man 
springs  up  to  the  imperial;  his  light  luggage,  it  appears, 
was  on  the  coach  already,  and  that  luggage  belonged  to  Philip 
Firmin.  Ah,  monsieur!  and  that  was  the  reason,  was  it, 
why  they  were  so  merry  yesterday  —  the  parting  day  ? 
Because  they  were  not  going  to  part  just  then.  Because, 
when  the  time  of  execution  drew  near,  they  had  managed 
to  smuggle  a  little  reprieve  !  Upon  my  conscience,  I  never 
lieard  of  such  imprudence  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life ! 
Why,  it  is  starvation  —  certain  misery  to  one  and  the  other. 
''  I  don't  like  to  meddle  in  other  people's  affairs,"  I  say  to 
my  wife  ;  "  but  I  have  no  patience  with  such  folly,  or  with 
myself  for  not  speaking  to  General  Baynes  on  the  subject. 
I  shall  write  to  the  General." 

"My  dear,  the  General  knows  all  about  it,"  says  Char- 
lotte's, Philip's  (in  my  opinion)  most  injudicious  friend. 
"  We  have  talked  about  it,  and,  like  a  man  of  sense,  the 
General  makes  light  of  it.  ^  Young  folks  will  be  young 
folks,'  he  says;  'and,  by  George!  ma'am,  when  I  married 
—  I  should  sa}^,  when  Mrs.  B.  ordered  me  to  marry  her  — 
she  had  nothing,  and  I  but  my  captain's  pay.  People  get 
on,  somehow.  Better  for  a  young  man  to  marry,  and  keep 
out  of  idleness  and  mischief;  and  I  promise  you,  the  chap 
who  marries  my  girl  gets  a  treasure.  I  like  the  boy  for  the 
sake  of  my  old  friend  Phil  Eingwood.  I  don't  see  that  the 
fellows  with  the  rich  wives  are  much  the  happier,  or  that 
men  should  wait  to  marry  until  they  are  gouty  old  rakes.' " 
And,  it  appears,  the  General  instanced  several  officers  of  his 
own  acquaintance ;  some  of  whom  had  married  when  they 
were  young  and  poor ;  some  who  had  married  when  they 
were  old  and  sulky :  some  who  had  never  married  at  all. 
And  he  mentioned  his  comrade,  my  own  uncle,  the  Inte  jNFajor 
Pendennis,  whom  he  called  a  seltish  old  creature,  and  hinted 


ON  HIS    WAY  TlinOUGH   THE    WORLD.        359 

that  the  j\[ajor  had  jilted  some  lady  in  early  life,  whom  he 
would  have  done  much  better  to  marry. 

And  so  Philip  is  actually  gone  after  his  charmer,  and  is 
pursuing  her  sunimci  dil'ujentid?  The  Baynes  family  has 
allowed  this  penniless  young  law  student  to  make  love  to 
their  daughter,  or  accompany  them  to  Paris,  to  appear  as 
the  almost  recognized  son  of  the  house.  '^  Other  people, 
when  they  were  young,  wanted  to  make  imprudent  mar- 
riages," says  my  wife  (as  if  that  wretched  tu  quo(j[ue  w^ere 
any  answer  to  my  remark  ! )  '-  This  penniless  law  student 
might  have  a  good  sum  of  money  if  he  chose  to  press  the 
Baynes  family  to  pay  him  what,  after  all,  they  owe  him." 
And  so  poor  little  Charlotte  was  to  be  her  father's  ransom ! 
To  be  sure,  little  Charlotte  did  not  object  to  offer  herself  up 
in  payment  of  her  papa's  debt!  And  though  I  objected  as 
a  moral  man,  and  a  prudent  man,  and  a  father  of  a  family,  I 
could  not  be  very  seriously  angry.  I  am  secretly  of  the 
disposition  of  the  time-honored  ^j»e;'e  defumille  in  the  come- 
dies, the  irascible  old  gentleman  in  the  crop  wig  and 
George-the-Second  coat,  who  is  always  menacing  "Tom  the 
young  dog  "  with  his  cane.  When  the  deed  is  done,  and 
Miranda  (the  little  sly-boots  ! )  falls  before  my  squaretoes 
and  shoebuckles,  and  Tom,  the  young  dog,  kneels  before  me 
in  his  white  ducks,  and  they  cry  out  in  a  pretty  chorus, 
"Forgive  us,  grandpapa!"  I  say,  "Well,  j'Ou  rogue,  boys 
will  be  boys.  Take  her,  sirrah  !  Be  happy  with  her ;  and, 
hark  ye  !  in  this  pocket-book  you  will  find  ten  thousand," 
&c.,  &c.  You  all  know  the  stor}^ :  I  cannot  help  liking  it, 
however  old  it  may  be.  In  love,  somehow,  one  is  pleased 
that  young  people  should  dare  a  little.  Was  not  Bessy 
Eldon  famous  as  an  economist,  and  Lord  Eldon  celebrated 
for  Avisdom  and  .caution  ?  and  did  not  John  Scott  marry 
Elizabeth  Surtees  when  they  had  scarcely  twopence  a  j^ear 
between  them  ?  "  Of  course,  my  dear,"  I  say  to  the  x>artner 
of  my  existence,  "  now  this  madcap  fellow  is  utterly  ruined, 
now  is  the  very  time  he  ought  to  marry.  The  accepted 
doctrine  is  that  a  man  should  spend  his  own  fortune,  then 
his  wife's  fortune,  and  then  he  may  begin  to  get  on  at  the 
bar.  Philip  has  a  hundred  pounds,  let  us  say ;  Charlotte 
has  nothing;  so  that  in  about  six  weeks  we  may  look  to 
hear  of  Philip  being  in  successful  practice — " 

"  Successful  nonsense  !  "  cries  the  lady.  "  Don't  go  on 
like  a  cold-blooded  calculating  machine  !  You  don't  believe 
a  word  of  what  you   say,  and  a   more   imprudent  person 


360  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

never  lived  than  you  yourself  were  as  a  young  man."  This 
was  departing  from  the  question,  which  women  will  do. 
"Nonsense  ! "  again  says  my  romantic  being  of  a  partner-of- 
existence.  "Don't  tell  me,  sir.  They  will  be  provided 
for  !  Are  we  to  be  forever  taking  care  of  the  morrow,  and 
not  trusting  that  we  shall  be  cared  for  ?  You  may  call 
your  way  of  thinking  prudence.  I  call  it  sbifid  ivorl(Ui7iess, 
sir."  When  a  life-partner  speaks  in  a  certain  strain,  I 
know  that  remonstrance  is  useless,  and  argument  unavailing, 
and  I  generally  resort  to  cowardly  subterfuges,  and  sneak 
out  of  the  conversation  by  a  pun,  a  side  joke  or  some  other 
flippancy.  Besides,  in  this  case,  though  I  argue  against  my 
wife,  my  sympathy  is  on  her  side.  I  know  Mr.  Philip  is 
imprudent  and  headstrong,  but  I  should  like  him  to  succeed, 
and  be  happy.  I  own  he  is  a  scapegrace,  but  I  wish  him 
well. 

So,  just  as  the  diligence  of  Lafitte  and  Caillard  is  clearing 
out  of  Boulogne  town,  the  conductor  causes  the  carriage  to 
stop,  and  a  young  fellow  has  mounted  up  on  the  roof  in  a 
twinkling;  and  the  postilion  says  "Hi ! "  to  his  horses,  and 
away  those  squealing  grays  go  clattering.  And  a  young 
lady,  happening  to  look  out  of  one  of  the  windows  of  the 
interieur,  has  perfectly  recognized  the  young  gentleman 
who  leaped  up  to  the  roof  so  nimbly ;  and  the  two  boys  who 
were  in  the  rotonde  would  have  recognized  the  gentleman, 
but  that  they  were  already  eating  the  sandwiches  which  my 
wife  had  provided.  And  so  the  diligence  goes  on,  until  it 
reaches  that  hill,  where  the  girls  used  to  come  and  offer  to 
sell  you  apples ;  and  some  of  the  passengers  descend  and 
walk,  and  the  till  young  man  on  the  roof  jumps  down,  and 
approaches  the  party  in  the  interior,  and  a  young  lady  cries 
out  "  La !  "  and  her  mamma  looks  impenetrably  grave,  and 
not  in  the  least  surprised ;  and  her  father  gives  a  wink  of 
one  eye,  and  says,  "  It's  him,  is  it,  by  George  ! "  and  the 
two  boys  coming  out  of  the  rotonde,  their  mouths  full  of 
mndwich,  cry  out,  "  Hullo  !     It's  Mr.  Firmin." 

"  How  do  you  do,  ladies  ?  "  he  says,  blushing  as  red  as  an 
apple,  and  his  heart  thumping  —  but  that  may  be  from 
walking  up  hill.  And  he  puts  a  hand  towards  a  carriage- 
window  and  a  little  hand  comes  out  and  lights  on  his. 
And  Mrs.  General  Baynes,  who  is  reading  a  religious  work, 
looks  up  and  says,  "Oh!  how  do  you  do,  J\[r.  Firmin?" 
And  this  is  the  remarkable  dialogue  that  takes  place.  It  is 
not  very  witty;  but  Philip's  tones  send  a  rapture  into  one 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        361 

young  heart ;  and  wlien  lie  is  absent,  and  has  climbed  up  to 
his  place  in  the  cabriolet,  the  kick  of  his  boots  on  the  roof 
gives  the  said  young  heart  inexjjressible  comfort  and  conso- 
lation. Shine,  stars  and  moon.  Shriek,  gray  horses,  through 
the  calm  night.  Snore  sweetly,  papa  and  mamma,  in  your 
corners,  with  your  pocket-handkerchiefs  tied  round  your 
old  fronts !  I  suppose,  under  all  the  stars  of  heaven,  there 
is  nobody  more  happy  than  that  child  in  that  carriage  — 
that  wakeful  girl,  in  sweet  maiden  meditation  —  who  has 
given  her  heart  to  the  keeping  of  the  champion  w^ho  is  so 
near  her.  Has  he  not  been  always  their  champion  and 
preserver  ?  Don't  they  owe  to  his  generosity  eveiything  in 
life  ?  One  of  the  little  sisters  wakes  wildly,  and  cries  in 
the  night,  and  Charlotte  takes  the  child  into  her  arms  and 
soothes  her.  "Hush,  dear!  He's  there  —  he's  there,"  she 
whispers,  as  she  bends  over  the  child.  Nothing  wrong  can 
happen  with  him  there,  she  feels.  If  the  robbers  were  to 
spring  out  from  yonder  dark  pines,  why,  he  would  jump 
down,  and  they  would  all  fly  before  him  !  The  carriage  rolls 
on  through  sleeping  villages,  and  as  the  old  team  retires  all 
in  a  halo  of  smoke,  and  the  fresh  horses  came  clattering  up 
to  their  pole,  Charlotte  sees  a  w^ell-known  white  face  in  the 
gleam  of  the  carriage-lanterns.  Through  the  long  avenues 
the  great  vehicle  rolls  on  its  coarse.  The  dawn  peers  over 
the  poplars :  the  stars  quiver  out  of  sight :  the  sun  is  up  in 
the  sky,  and  the  heaven  is  all  in  a  flame.  The  night  is 
over  —  the  night  of  nights.  In  all  the  round  world, 
whether  lighted  by  stars  or  sunshine,  there  were  not  two 
people  more  happy  than  these  had  been. 

A  very  short  time  afterwards,  at  the  end  of  October,  our 
own  little  sea-side  sojourn  came  to  an  end.  That  astound- 
ing bill  for  broken  glass,  chairs,  crockeiy,  w^as  paid.  The 
London  steamer  takes  us  all  on  board  on  a  beautiful,  sunny 
autumn  evening,  and  lands  us  at  the  Custom-House  Quay  in 
the  midst  of  a  deep,  dun  fog,  through  which  our  cabs  have 
to  work  their  way  over  greasy  pavements,  and  bearing  t^ro 
loads  of  silent  and  terrified  children.  Ah,  that  return,  if 
but  after  a  fortnight's  absence  and  holiday  !  Oh,  that  heap 
of  letters  lying  in  a  ghastly  pile,  and  yet  so  clearly  visible 
in  the  dim  twilight  of  master's  study  !  We  cheerfully 
breakfast  by  candlelight  for  the  first  two  days  after  my 
arrival  at  home,  and  I  have  the  pleasure  of  cutting  a  part 
of  my  chin  off  because  it  is  too  dark  to  shave  at  nine  o'clock 
in  the  morning. 


362  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

My  wife  can't  be  so  unfeeling  as  to  laugh  and  be  merry 
because  I  have  met  with  an  acciilent  whicli  temporarily  dis- 
figures me.  If  the  dun  fog  makes  her  jocular,  she  has  a 
very  queer  sense  of  humor.  She  has  a  letter  before  her, 
over  which  she  is  perfectly  radiant.  When  she  is  especially 
pleased  I  can  see  by  her  face  and  a  particular  animation 
and  affectionateness  towards  the  rest  of  the  family.  On 
this  present  morning  her  face  beams  out  of  the  fog-clouds. 
The  room  is  illuminated  by  it,  and  perhaps  by  the  two  can- 
dles which  are  placed  one  on  either  side  of  the  urn.  The 
tire  crackles,  and  flames,  and  spits  most  cheerfully  ;  and  the 
sky  without,  which  is  of  the  hue  of  brown  paper,  seems  to 
set  off  the  brightness  of  the  little  interior  scene. 

"  A  letter  from  Charlotte,  papa,"  cries  one  little  girl;  with 
an  air  of  consequence.  "  And  a  letter  from  Uncle  Philip, 
papa  !  "  cries  another,  "  and  they  like  Paris  so  much,"  con- 
tinues the  little  reporter. 

"  And  there,  sir,  didn't  I  tell  you  ?  "  cries  the  lady,  hand- 
ing me  over  a  letter. 

"Mamma  always  told  you  so,"  echoes  the  child,  with  an 
important  nod  of  the  head  ;  "  and  I  shouldn't  be  surprised 
if  he  were  to  be  very  rich,  should  you,  mamma  ?  "  continues 
this  arithmetician. 

I  would  not  put  Miss  Charlotte's  letter  into  print  if  I 
could,  for  do  you  know  that  little  person's  grammar  was 
frequently  incorrect ;  there  were  three  or  four  words  spelt 
wrongly  ;  and  the  letter  was  so  scored  and  marked  with 
dashes  under  every  other  word,  that  it  is  clear  to  me  her 
education  had  been  neglected;  and  as  I  am  very  fond  of 
her,  I  do  not  wish  to  make  fun  of  her.  And  I  can't  print 
Mr.  Philip's  letter,  for  I  haven't  kept  it.  Of  what  use  keep- 
ing letters  ?  I  say.  Burn,  burn,  burn.  No  heart-pangs. 
No  reproaches.  No  yesterda}^  Was  it  haj^py,  or  misera- 
ble ?  To  think  of  it  is  always  melancholy.  Go  to  !  I  dare 
say  it  is  the  thought  of  that  fog  which  is  making  this  sen- 
tence so  dismal.  Meanwhile  there  is  Madame  Laura's  face 
smiling  out  of  the  darkness,  as  pleased  as  may  be ;  and  no 
wonder,  she  is  always  happy  when  her  friends  are  so. 

Charlotte's  letter  contained  a  full  account  of  the  settle- 
ment of  the  Baynes  family  at  Madame  Smolensk's  board- 
ing-house, where  they  appear  to  have  been  really  very 
comfortable,  and  to  have  lived  at  a  very  cheap  rate.  As  for 
Mr.  Philip,  he  made  his  way  to  a  crib,  to  which  his  artist 
friends  had  recommen:!ed  him,  on  the  Faubourg  St.  Ger- 


Oy  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        SG3 

main  side  of  the  water  —  the  "  Hotel  Poiissin,"  in  the  street 
of  that  name,  which  lies,  you  know,  between  the  Mazarin 
Library  and  the  Musee  des  Beaux  Arts.  In  former  days, 
my  gentleman  had  lived  in  state  and  bounty  in  the  English 
hotels  and  quarter.  Xow  he  found  liimself  very  handsomely 
lodged  for  thirty  francs  per  month,  and  with  five  or  six 
pounds,  he  has  repeatedly  said  si  nee,  he  could  carry  through 
the  month  very  comfortably.  I  don't  say,  my  young  trav- 
eller, that  you  can  be  so  lucky  nowadays.  Are  we  not 
telling  a  story  of  twenty  years  ago  ?  Aye,  marry,  —  ere 
steam-coaches  had  begun  to  scream  on  French  rails ;  and 
when  Louis  Philippe  was  king. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  is  ruined  he  must  needs  fall 
in  love.  In  order  to  be  near  the  beloved  object,  he  must 
needs  follow  her  to  Paris,  and  give  up  his  promised  studies 
for  the  bar  at  home ;  where,  to  do  him  justice,  I  believe  the 
fellow  would  never  have  done  any  good.  And  he  has  not 
been  in  Paris  a  fortnight  when  that  fantastic  jade.  Fortune, 
who  had  seemed  to  fly  away  from  him,  gives  him  a  smiling 
look  of  recognition,  as  if  to  say,  "  Young  gentleman,  I  have 
not  quite  done  with  you." 

The  good  fortune  was  not  much.  Do  not  suppose  that 
Philip  suddenly  drew  a  twent3-thousand  pound  prize  in  a 
lottery.  But  being  in  much  want  of  money,  he  suddenly 
found  himself  enabled  to  earn  some  in  a  way  pretty  easy  to 
himself. 

In  the  first  phace,  Philip  found  his  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Mugford  in  a  bewildered  state  in  the  midst  of  Paris,  in 
which  city  ^Mugford  Avould  never  consent  to  have  a  la  qua  is 
de  place^  being  firmly  convinced  to  the  day  of  his  death  that 
he  knew  the  French  language  quite  sufficientl}'  for  all  pur- 
poses of  conversation.  Philip,  who  had  often  visited  Paris 
before,  came  to  the  aid  of  his  friends  in  a  two-franc  dining- 
house,  which  he  frequented  for  economy's  sake ;  and  they, 
because  they  thought  the  banquet  there  provided  not  only 
cheap,  but  most  magnificent  and  satisfactory.  He  inter- 
preted for  them,  and  rescued  them  from  their  perplexity, 
whatever  it  was.  He  treated  them  handsomely  to  caffy  on 
the  bullyvard,  as  ]\[ugford  said  on  returning  home  and  in 
recounting  the  adventure  to  me.  "He  can't  forget  that  he 
has  been  a  swell :  and  he  does  do  things  like  a  gentleman, 
that  Firmin  does.  He  came  back  with  us  to  our  hotel  — 
Meurice's,"  said  Mr.  Mugford,  "  and  who  should  drive  into 
the  yard  and  step  out  of  his  carriage  but  Lord  Kingwood — 


364  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

you  know  Lord  Eingwood  ?  everybody  knows  him.  As  he 
gets  out  of  his  carriage —  ' What !  is  that  you,  Philip?' 
says  his  lordship,  giving  the  young  fellow  his  hand.  '  Come 
and  breakfast  with  me  to-morrow  morning.'  And  away  he 
goes  most  friendly." 

How  came  it  to  pass  that  Lord  Eingwood,  Avhose  instinct 
of  self-preservation  was  strong  —  who,  I  fear,  was  rather  a 
selhsh  nobleman — and  who,  of  late,  as  we  have  heard,  had 
given  orders  to  refuse  Mr.  Philip  entrance  at  his  door  — 
should  all  of  a  sudden  turn  round  and  greet  the  young  man 
with  cordiality?  In  the  first  place,  Philip  had  never 
troubled  his  lordship's  knocker  at  all ;  and  second,  as  luck 
would  have  it,  on  this  very  day  of  their  meeting  his  lordship 
had  been  to  dine  with  that  well-known  Parisian  resident  and 
hon  viuant,  my  Lord  Viscount  Trim,  who  had  been  governor 
of  the  Sago  Islands  when  Colonel  Baynes  was  there  with 
his  regiment,  the  gallant  100th.  And  the  General  and  his 
old  West  India  governor  meeting  at  church,  my  Lord  Trim 
straightway  asked  General  Baynes  to  dinner,  where  Lord 
Eingwood  was  present,  along  with  other  distinguished  com- 
pany, whom  at  present  we  need  not  particularize.  Now  it 
has  been  said  that  Philip  Eingwood,  my  lord's  brother,  and 
Captain  Baynes  in  early  youth  had  been  close  friends,  and 
that  the  Colonel  had  died  in  the  Captain's  arms.  Lord 
Eingwood,  who  had  an  excellent  memory  when  he  chose  to 
use  it,  was  pleased  on  this  occasion  to  remember  General 
Baynes  and  his  intimacy  with  his  brother  in  old  days.  And 
of  those  old  times  they  talked ;  the  General  waxing  more 
eloquent,  I  suppose,  than  his  wont  over  Lord  Trim's  excel- 
lent wine.  And  in  the  course  of  conversation  Philip  was 
named,  and  the  General,  warm  with  drink,  poured  out  a 
most  enthusiastic  eulogium  on  his  young  friend,  and  men- 
tioned how  noble  and  self-denying  Philip's  conduct  had  been 
in  his  own  case.  And  perhaps  Lord  Eingwood  was  pleased 
at  hearing  these  praises  of  his  brother's  grandson ;  and  per- 
haps he  thought  of  old  times,  when  he  had  a  heart,  and  he 
and  his  brother  loved  each  other.  And  though  he  might 
think  Philip  Pirmin  an  absurd  young  blockhead  for  giving 
up  any  claims  which  he  might  have  on  General  Baynes,  at 
any  rate  I  have  no  doubt  his  lordship  thought,  "  This  boy  is 
not  likely  to  come  begging  money  from  me !  "  Hence,  when 
he  drove  back  to  his  hotel  on  the  very  night  after  this 
dinner,  and  in  the  courtyard  saw  that  Philip  Firmin,  his 
brother's   grandson,   the   heart   of  the   old  noblen:.an  was 


ox  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        365 

smitten  with  a  kindly  sentiment,  and  he  bade  Philip  to 
come  and  see  him. 

I  have  described  some  of  Philip's  oddities,  and  amongst 
these  was  a  very  remarkable  change  in  his  appearance, 
Avhich  ensned  very  speedily  after  his  rnin.  I  know  that  the 
greater  nnmber  of  story  readers  are  young,  and  those  who 
are  ever  so  old  remember  that  their  own  young  days 
occurred  but  a  very,  very  short  while  ago.  Don't  you 
remember,  most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  senior,  when  you 
were  a  junior,  and  actually  rather  pleased  with  new  clothes  ? 
Does  a  new  coat  or  a  waistcoat  cause  you  any  pleasure  now  ? 
To  a  Avell-constituted  middle-aged  gentleman,  I  rather  trust 
a  smart  new  suit  causes  a  sensation  of  uneasiness  —  not 
from  the  tightness  of  the  fit,  which  may  be  a  reason  —  but 
from  the  gloss  and  splendor.     When  my  late  kind  friend, 

Mrs. ,  gave  me  the  emerald  tabbinet  waistcoat,  with  the 

gold  shamrocks,  I  wore  it  once  to  go  to  Eichmond  to  dine 
Avith  her;  but  I  buttoned  myself  so  closely  in  an  upper 
coat  that  I  am  sure  nobod}^  in  the  omnibus  saw  what  a 
painted  vest  I  had  on.  Gold  sprigs  and  emerald  tabbinet, 
what  a  gorgeous  raiment !  It  has  formed  for  ten  j^ears  the 
chief  ornament  of  my  wardrobe  ;  and  though  I  have  never 
dared  to  wear  it  since,  I  always  think  with  a  secret  pleasure 
of  possessing  that  treasure.  Do  women,  when  they  are 
sixty,  like  handsome  and  fashionable  attire,  and  a  youthful 
appearance  ?  Look  at  Lady  Jezebel's  blushing  cheek,  her 
raven  hair,  her  splendid  garments !  But  this  disquisition 
may  be  carried  to  too  great  a  length.  I  want  to  note  a  fact 
-which  has  occurred  not  seldom  in  my  experience  —  that  men 
who  have  been  great  dandies  will  often  and  suddenly  give 
up  their  long-accustomed  splendor  of  dress,  and  walk  about, 
most  happy  and  contented,  with  the  shabbiest  of  coats  and 
hats.  No.  The  majority  of  men  are  not  vain  about  their 
dress.  Por  instance,  within  a  very  few  years,  men  used  to 
have  pretty  feet.  See  in  what  a  resolute  wa}'  they  have 
kicked  their  pretty  boots  off  almost  to  a  man,  and  wear  great, 
thick,  formless,  comfortable  walking  boots,  of  shape  scarcely 
more  graceful  than  a  tub ! 

When  Philip  Firmin  first  came  on  the  town,  there  were 
dandies  still ;  there  were  dazzling  waistcoats  of  velvet  and 
brocade,  and  tall  stocks  with  cataracts  of  satin ;  there  were 
pins,  studs,  neck-chains,  I  know  not  what  fantastic  splendors 
of  youth.  His  varnished  boots  grew  upon  forests  of  trees. 
He  had  a  most  resplendent  silver  gilt  dressing-case,  pre- 


366  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

sented  to  liim  by  his  father  (for  which,  it  is  true,  the  doctoi 
neglected  to  pay,  leaving  that  duty  to  his  son).  "  It  is  a 
mere  ceremony,"  said  the  worthy  doctor,  "  a  cumbrous  thing 
you  may  fancy  at  first;  but  take  it  about  with  you.  It 
looks  well  on  a  man's  dressing-table  at  a  country-house.  It 
2)oses  a  man,  you  understand.  I  have  known  women  come 
in  and  peep  at  it.  A  trifle,  you  may  sa}^,  my  boy ;  but  what 
is  the  use  of  flinging  any  chance  in  life  away?"  Now, 
when  misfortune  came,  3'oung  ]^hilip  flung  away  all  these 
magnificeut  follies.  He  wrapped  himself  virtute  sua  ;  and 
I  am  bound  to  say  a  more  queer-looking  fellow  than  friend 
Philip  seldom  walked  the  pavement  of  London  or  Paris. 
He  could  not  wear  the  nap  off  all  his  coats,  or  rub  his  elbows 
into  rags  in  six  months ;  but,  as  he  would  say  of  himself 
with  much  simplicity,  "I  do  think  I  run  to  seed  more 
quickly  than  any  fellow  I  ever  knew.  All  my  socks  in  holes, 
Mrs.  Pendennis ;  all  my  shirt-buttons  gone,  I  give  you  my 
word.  I  dou't  know  how  the  things  hold  together,  and  why 
they  don't  tumble  to  pieces.  I  suspect  I  must  have  a  bad 
laundress."  Suspect !  My  children  used  to  laugh  and  crow 
as  they  sewed  buttons  on  to  him.  As  for  the  Little  Sister, 
she  broke  into  his  apartments  in  his  absence,  and  said  that 
it  turned  her  hair  gray  to  see  the  state  of  his  poor  wardrobe. 
I  believe  that  Mrs.  I>randon  put  surreptitious  linen  into  his 
drawers.  He  did  not  know.  He  wore  the  shirts  in  a  con- 
tented spirit.  The  glossy  boots  began  to  crack  and  then  to 
burst,  and  Philip  wore  them  with  perfect  equanimity. 
AVhere  were  the  beautiful  lavender  and  lemon  gloves  of  last 
year  ?  His  great  naked  hands  (with  Avhich  he  gesticulates 
so  grandly)  were  as  brown  as  an  Indian's  now.  We  had 
liked  him  heartily  in  his  days  of  splendor ;  we  loved  him 
now  in  his  threadbare  suit. 

I  can  fancy  the  young  man  striding  into  the  room  where 
his  lordship's  guests  were  assembled.  In  the  presence  of 
great  or  small,  Philip  has  always  been  entirely  unconcerned, 
and  he  is  one  of  the  half-dozen  men  I  have  seen  in  my  life 
upon  whom  rank  made  no  impression.  It  appears  that,  on 
occasion  of  this  breakfast,  there  were  one  or  two  dandies 
present  who  were  aghast  at  Philip's  freedom  of  behavior. 
He  engaged  in  conversation  with  a  famous  French  states- 
man ;  contradicted  him  with  much  energy  in  his  own  lan- 
guage ;  and  when  the  statesman  asked  whether  monsieur 
was  membre  du  Parlement,  Philip  burst  into  one  of  his 
roars  of  laughter,  which  almost  breaks  the  glasses  on   a 


ox  HIS    WAY   TIIROUGII   THE    WORLD.        3G7 

table,  and  said,  "Je  suis  journaiiste,  monsieur,  a  vos 
ordres ! "  Young  Tinibuiy  of  tlie  embassy  "was  aghast  at 
Philip's  insolence  ;  and  Dr.  Botts,  his  lordship's  travelling 
physician,  looked  at  him  with  a  terrified  face.  A  bottle  of 
claret  was  brought,  wliich  almost  all  the  gentlemen  present 
began  to  swallow,  until  Thilip,  tasting  his  glass,  called  out, 
"  Faugh !  It's  corked ! "  '•  So  it  is,  and  very  badly  corked," 
growls  my  lord,  with  (;ne  of  his  usual  oaths.  '•'  Why  didn't 
some  of  you  fellows  speak  ?  Do  you  like  corked  wine  ?  " 
There  were  gallant  fellows  round  that  table  who  would  have 
drunk  corked  black  dose,  had  his  lordship  professed  to  like 
senna.  The  old  host  was  tickled  and  amused.  "Your 
mother  was  a  quiet  soul,  and  your  father  used  to  bow  like 
a  dancing-master.  You  ain't  much  like  him.  I  dine  at 
home  most  days.  Leave  word  in  the  morning  with  my 
people,  and  come  when  you  like,  Philip,"  he  growled.  A 
part  of  this  news  Philip  narrated  to  us  in  his  letter,  and 
other  part  was  given  verbally  by  Mr.  and  MrSo  Mugford  on 
their  return  to  London.  "I  tell  you,  sir,"  saj'S  jMugford, 
"he  has  been  taken  by  the  hand  by  some  of  the  tip-top 
people,  and  have  booked  him  at  three  guineas  a  week  for 
a  letter  to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette:' 

And  this  was  the  cause  of  my  wife's  exultation  and  tri- 
umphant "Didn't  I  tell  you?"  Philip's  foot  was  on  the 
ladder ;  and  who  so  capable  of  mounting  to  the  top  ? 
When  happiness  and  a  fond  and  lovely  girl  were  waiting 
for  him  there,  would  he  lose  heart,  spare  exertion,  or  be 
afraid  to  climb  ?  He  had  no  truer  well-wisher  than  myself, 
and  no  friend  who  liked  him  better,  though,  I  dare  say, 
many  admired  him  much  more  than  I  did.  But  these  were 
women  for  the  most  part ;  and  women  become  so  absurdly 
unjust  and  partial  to  persons  whom  they  love,  when  these 
latter  are  in  misfortune,  that  I  am  surprised  Mr.  Philip  did 
not  quite  lose  his  head  in  his  poverty,  with  such  fond  flat- 
terers and  sycophants  round  about  him=  Would  you  grudge 
him  the  consolation  to  be  had  from  these  sweet  uses  of 
adversity  ?  Many  a  heart  would  be  hardened  but  for  the 
memory  of  past  griefs ;  when  eyes,  now  averted,  perhaps, 
were  full  of  sympathy,  and  hands,  now  cold,  were  eager  to 
soothe  and  succor. 


CHAPTEE    XIX. 


QU^OX    EST    BTEN    A    VIXGT    ANS. 


FAIR  correspondent  —  and  I 
would  parenthetically  hint 
that  all  correspondents  are 
not  fair  —  ^^^ints  out  the  dis- 
crepancy existing  between 
the  text  and  the  illustrations 
of  our  story  ;  and  justly  re- 
marks that  the  story  dated 
more  than  twenty  years  back, 
while  the  costumes  of  the 
actors  of  our  little  comedy 
are  of  the  fashion  of  to-day. 
My  dear  madam,  these 
anachronisms  must  be,  or  you 
would  scarcely  be  able  to 
keep  any  interest  for  our 
characters.  What  would  be 
a  woman  without  a  crinoline 
petticoat,  for  example  ?  An 
object  ridiculous,  hateful,  1 
suppose  hardl}^  proper.  AVhat 
would  you  think  of  a  hero  who  wore  a  large  high  black- 
satin  stock  cascading  over  a  figured  silk  waistcoat ;  and  a 
blue  dress-coat,  with  brass  buttons,  mayhap  ?  If  a  person 
so  attired  came  up  to  ask  you  to  dance,  could  you  refrain 
from  laughing  ?  Time  was  wdien  young  men  so  decorated 
found  favor  in  the  eyes  of  damsels  who  had  never  beheld 
hooped  petticoats,  except  in  their  grandmother's  portraits. 
Persons  who  flourished  in  the  first  part  of  the  century  never 
thought  to  see  the  hoops  of  our  ancestors'  age-  rolled  down- 
wards to  our  contemporaries  and  children.  Did  we  ever 
imagine  that  a  period  Avould  arrive  when  our  young  men 

atJ8 


THE  ADVEXTL'JiES   OF  PHILIP.  369 

would  part  their  liair  down  the  middle,  and  wear  a  piece  of 
tape  for  a  neck-cloth  ?  As  soon  should  we  have  thought  of 
their  dyeing  their  bodies  with  woad,  and  arraying  them- 
selves like  ancient  Britons.  So  the  ages  have  their  dress 
and  undress ;  and  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  Victoria's 
time  are  satisfied  with  their  manner  of  raiment;  as  no 
doubt  in  Boadicea's  court  they  looked  charming  tattooed 
and  painted  blue. 

The  times  of  which  we  write,  the  times  of  Louis  Philippe 
the  king,  are  so  altered  froui  the  present,  that  when  Philip 
Firmin  went  to  Paris  it  was  absolutely  a  cheap  place  to 
live  in  ;  and  he  has  often  bragged  in  subsequent  days  of 
having  lived  well  during  a  month  for  live  pounds,  and 
bought  a  neat  waistcoat  with  a  part  of  the  money.  "  A 
capital  bedroom,  ait  pr(imiei\  for  a  franc  a  day,  sir,"  he 
would  call  all  persons  to  remark,  '^a  bedroom  as  good  as 
yours,  my  lord,  at  Meurice's.  Very  good  tea  or  coffee 
breakfast,  twenty  francs  a  month,  Avith  lots  of  bread  and 
butter.  Twenty  francs  a  month  for  washing,  and  fifty  for 
dinner  and  pocket-money — that's  about  the  figure.  The 
dinner,  I  own,  is  shy,  unless  I  come  and  dine  with  my 
friends ;  and  then  I  make  up  for  banyan  days."  And  so 
saying  Philip  would  call  out  for  more  truffled  partridges,  or 
affably  filled  his  goblet  with  my  Lord  Kingwood's  best 
Sillery.  "At  those  shops,"  he  would  observe,  "where  I 
dine,  I  have  beer :  I  can't  stand  the  wine.  And  you  see,  I 
can't  go  to  the  cheap  English  ordinaries,  of  which  there  are 
many,  because  English  gentlemen's  servants  are  there,  you 
know,  and  it's  not  pleasant  to  sit  with  a  fellow  who  waits 
on  you  the  day  after." 

"Oh!  the  English  servants  go  to  the  cheap  ordinaries,  do 
they?  "  asks  my  lord,  greatly  amused,  and  you  drink  hVere 
de  Mars  at  the  shop  where  you  dine  ?  " 

"  And  dine  very  badly,  too,  I  can  tell  you.  Always  come 
away  hungry.  Giv^e  me  some  champagne  —  the  dry,  if  you 
please.  They  mix  very  well  together  —  sweet  and  dry. 
Did  you  ever  dine  at  Flicoteau's,  Mr.  l*ecker  ?  " 

"  I  dine  at  one  of  your  horrible  two-franc  houses  ? " 
cries  Mr.  Pecker,  with  a  look  of  terror.  "Do  you  know, 
my  lord,  there  are  actually  houses  wliere  people  dine  for 
two  francs  !  " 

"Two  francs  !  Seventeen  sous  I  "  bawls  out  Mr.  Eirmin. 
"  The  soup,  the  beef,  tlu'  roti,  the  salad,  the  dessert,  and  the 
whitey-brown  l)read  at  discretion.  It's  not  a  good  dinner, 
VOL.    I.  — 24 


370  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

certainly  —  in  fact,  it  is  a  dreadful  bad  one.  But  to  dine 
so  would  do  some  fellows  a  great  deal  of  good." 

"  Wliat  do  you  say,  Pecker  ?  Micoteau's ;  seventeen 
sous.  We'll  make  a  little  party  and  try,  and  Firmin  shall 
do  the  honors  of  his  restaurant,"  says  my  lord,  with  a  grin. 

"  jVIercy  ! "  gasi)S  Mr.  Pecker. 

'Q  had  rather  dine  here,  if  you  please,  my  lord,"  says 
the  young  man.     "  This  is  cheaper,  and  certainly  better." 

My  lord's  doctor,  and  many  of  the  guests  at  his  table, 
my  lord's  henchmen,  flatterers,  and  led  captains,  looked 
aghast  at  the  freedom  of  the  young  fellow  in  the  shabby 
coat.  If  they  dared  to  be  familiar  with  their  host,  there 
came  a  scowl  over  that  noble  countenance  Avhich  was  awful 
to  face.  They  drank  his  corked  wine  in  meekness  of  spirit. 
They  laughed  at  his  jokes  trembling.  One  after  another, 
they  were  the  objects  of  his  satire ;  and  each  grinned 
piteously,  as  he  took  his  turn  of  punishment.  Some 
dinners  are  dear,  though  they  cost  nothing.  At  some  great 
tables  are  not  toads  served  along  with  the  entrees  ?  Yes, 
and  many  amateurs  are  exceedingly  fond  of  the  dish. 

How  do  Parisians  live  at  all  ?  is  a  question  which  has 
often  set  me  w^ondering.  How  do  men  in  public  offices, 
with  fifteen  thousand  francs,  let  us  say,  for  a  salary  —  and 
this,  for  a  French  official,  is  a  high  salary  —  live  in  hand- 
some apartments,  give  genteel  entertainments ;  clothe  them- 
selves and  their  families  with  much  more  sumptuous 
raiment  than  English  people  of  the  same  station  can  afford ; 
take  their  country  holiday,  a  six  weeks'  sojourn,  aux  eaux  ; 
and  appear  cheerful  and  to  want  for  nothing?  Pater- 
familias, with  six  hundred  a  year  in  London,  knows  what  a 
straitened  life  his  is,  with  rent  high,  and  beef  at  a  shilling 
a  pound.  Well,  in  Paris,  rent  is  higher,  and  meat  is  dearer  ; 
and  yet  madame  is  richly  dressed  when  you  see  her; 
monsieur  has  always  a  little  money  in  his  pocket  for  his 
club  or  his  cafe;  and  something  is  pretty  surely  put  away 
every  year  for  the  marriage  portion  of  the  young  folks. 
"  Sir,"  Philip  used  to  say,  describing  this  period  of  his  life, 
on  which  and  on  most  subjects  regarding  himself,  by  the 
way,  he  was  wont  to  be  very  eloquent,  "  when  my  income 
was  raised  to  five  thousand  francs  a  year,  I  give  3^ou  my 
word  I  was  considered  to  be  rich  by  my  French  acquaint- 
ance. I  gave  four  sous  to  the  waiter  at  our  dining-place ; 
—  in  that  respect  I  was  always  ostentations:  —  and  I 
believe  they  called  me  Milor.     I  should  have  been  poor  in 


ox  HIS    ]VAV   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        371 

the  Eue  tie  la  Paix :  but  I  was  wealtliy  in  the  Luxembourg 
quarter.  Dou't  tell  me  about  poverty,  sir !  Poverty  is  a 
bully  if  you  are  afraid  of  her,  or  truckle  to  her.  Poverty 
is  good-natured  enough  if  you  meet  her  like  a  man.  You 
saAV  how  my  poor  old  father  was  afraid  of  her,  and  thought 
the  world  would  come  to  an  end  if  Dr.  Firmin  did  not  keep 
his  butler,  and  his  footman,  and  his  fine  house,  and  fine 
chariot  and  horses  ?  He  was  a  poor  man,  if  you  please. 
He  must  have  suffered  agonies  in  his  struggle  to  make  both 
ends  meet.  Everything  he  bought  must  have  cost  him 
twice  the  honest  price ;  and  when  I  think  of  nights  that 
must  have  been  i3assed  without  sleep  —  of  that  proud  man 
having  to  smirk  and  cringe  before  creditors  —  to  coax 
butchers,  by  George,  and  wheedle  tailors — I  pity  him;  I 
can't  be  angry  any  more.  That  man  has  suffered  enough. 
As  for  me,  haven't  you  remarked  that  since  I  have  not  a 
guinea  in  the  world,  I  swagger,  and  am  a  much  greater 
swell  than  before  ?  "  And  the  truth  is  that  a  Prince  Eoyal 
could  not  have  called  for  his  gens  with  a  more  magnificent 
air  than  ^Ir.  Philip  when  he  summoned  the  waiter,  and 
paid  for  his  petit  verre. 

Talk  of  poverty,  indeed  !  That  period,  Philip  vows,  was 
the  happiest  of  his  life.  He  liked  to  tell  in  after  da^^s  of 
the  choice  acquaintance  of  Bohemians  which  he  had 
formed.  Their  jug,  he  said,  though  it  contained  but  small 
beer,  was  always  full.  Their  tobacco,  though  it  bore  no 
higher  rank  than  that  of  caporal,  was  plentiful  and  fra- 
grant. He  knew  some  admirable  medical  students  ;  some 
artists  who  only  wanted  talent  and  industry  to  be  at  the 
height  of  their  profession  :  and  one  or  two  of  the  magnates 
of  his  own  calling,  the  newspaper  correspondents,  whose 
houses  and  tables  were  open  to  him.  It  was  wonderful 
what  secrets  of  politics  he  learned  and  transmitted  to  his 
own  paper.  He  pursued  French  statesmen  of  those  days 
with  prodigious  eloquence  and  vigor.  At  the  expense  of 
that  old  king  he  was  wonderfully  witty  and  sarcastical. 
He  reviewed  the  affairs  of  Europe,  settled  the  destinies  of 
Russia,  denounced  the  Spanish  marriages,  disposed  of  the 
Pope,  and  advocated  the  Liberal  cause  in  France  with  an 
untiring  eloquence.  "  Absinthe  used  to  be  my  drink,  sir," 
so  he  was  good  enough  to  tell  his  friends.  "It  makes  the 
ink  run,  and  imparts  a  fine  eloquence  to  the  style.  Mercy 
U])on  us,  how  I  woidd  l)elabor  that  poor  King  of  the  French 
under  the  influence  of  absinthe,  in  that  cafe  opposite  the 


372  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

Bourse  where  I  used  to  make  my  letter  !  AVlio  kuows,  sir, 
perhaps  the  iuflueuce  of  those  letters  precipitated  the  fall 
of  the  Bourbou  dynasty  !  Before  I  had  an  ottiee,  Gilligan, 
of  the  Centicnj,  and  I,  used  to  do  our  letters  at  that  cafe ; 
we  compared  notes  and  pitched  into  each  other  ami- 
cably." 

Gilligan  of  the  Century,  and  Firmin  of  the  Fall  Mall 
Gazette,  were,  however,  very  minor  personages  amongst  the 
London  newspaper  correspondents.  Their  seniors  of  the 
daily  press  had  handsome  apartments,  gave  sumptuous 
dinners,  were  closeted  with  ministers'  secretaries,  and 
entertained  members  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies.  Philip, 
on  perfectly  easy  terms  with  himself  and  the  world,  swag- 
gering about  the  embassy  balls  —  Philip,  the  friend  and 
relative  of  Lord  Eingwood  —  was  viewed  by  his  profes- 
sional seniors  and  superiors  with  an  eye  of  favor,  which 
was  not  certainly  turned  on  all  gentlemen  following  his 
calling.  Certainly  poor  Gilligan  was  never  asked  to  those 
dinners,  which  som3  of  the  newspaper  ambassadors  gave, 
whereas  Philip  was  received  not  inhospitably.  Gilligan 
received  but  a  cold  shoulder  at  ]Mrs.  Morning  Messenger's 
Thursdays ;  and  as  for  being  asked  to  dinner,  ••  Bedad,  that 
fellow,  Firmin,  has  an  air  with  him  which  will  carry  him 
through  anywhere ! "  Phil's  brother  correspondent  owned. 
"He  seems  to  patronize  an  ambassador  when  he  goes  up 
and  speaks  to  him ;  and  he  says  to  a  secretary,  '  My  good 
fellow,  tell  your  mister  that  Mr.  Firmin,  of  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette,  wants  to  see  him,  and  will  thank  him  to  step  over 
to  the  Cafe  de  la  Bourse.'  "  I  don't  think  Philip,  for  his 
part,  would  have  seen  much  matter  of  surprise  in  a  Minister 
stepping  over  to  speak  to  him.  To  him  all  folk  were  alike, 
great  and  small ;  and  it  is  recorded  of  him  that  when,  on 
one  occasion,  Lord  Ringwood  paid  him  a  visit  at  his  lodg- 
ings in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germiin,  Philip  affably  offered  his 
lordship  a  cornet  of  fried  potatoes,  with  which,  and  plenti- 
ful tobacco  of  course,  Philip  and  one  or  two  of  his  friends 
were  regaling  themselves  when  Lord  Ringwood  chanced  to 
call  on  his  kinsman. 

A  crust  and  a  carafon  of  small  beer,  a  correspondence 
with  a  weekly  paper,  and  a  remuneration  such  as  that  we 
have  mentioned,  —  was  Philip  Firmin  to  look  for  no  more 
than  this  pittance,  and  not  to  seek  for  more  permanent  and 
lucrative  employnirMit  ?  Some  of  his  friends  at  home  were 
rather  vexed  at  what  Philip  chose  to   consider   his    good 


ox  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        373 

fortune;  namely,  his  connection  with  the  newspaper,  and 
the  small  stipend  it  gave  him.  He  might  quarrel  Avith  his 
employer  any  day.  Indeed  no  man  was  more  likely  to  fling 
his  bread  and  butter  out  of  window  than  Mr.  Philip,  He 
was  losing  precious  time  at  the  bar ;  where  he,  as  hundreds 
of  other  poor  gentlemen  had  done  before  him,  might  make 
a  career  for  himself.  Tor  what  are  colonies  made  ?  Why 
do  bankruptcies  occur  ?  Why  do  people  break  the  peace 
and  quarrel  with  policemen,  but  that  barristers  may  be  em- 
ployed as  judges,  commissioners,  magistrates?  A  reportei 
to  a  newspaper  remains  all  his  life  a  newspaper  reporter. 
Philip,  if  he  Avould  but  help  himself,  had  friends  in  the 
world  who  might  aid  effectually  to  advance  him.  So  it  was 
we  pleaded  with  him,  in  the  language  of  moderation,  urging 
the  dictates  of  common  sense.  As  if  moderation  and  com- 
mon sense  could  be  got  to  move  that  mule  of  a  Philip  Firmin ; 
as  if  any  persuasion  of  ours  could  induce  him  to  do  anything 
but  what  he  liked  to  do  best  himself ! 

^'  That  1/ou  sliould  be  Avorldly,  my  poor  fellow"  (so  Philip 
wrote  to  his  present  biographer)  "  —  that  you  should  be 
thinking  of  money  and  the  main  chance,  is  no  matter  of 
surprise  to  me.  You  have  suffered  under  that  curse  of 
manhood,  that  destroyer  of  generosity  in  the  mind,  that 
parent  of  selfishness  ^ — a  little  fortune.  You  have  your 
wretched  hundreds  "  (my  candid  correspondent  stated  the 
sum  correctly  enough  ;  and  I  wish  it  were  double  or  treble ; 
but  that  is  not  here  the  point),  "paid  quarterly.  The 
miserable  pittance  numbs  your  whole  existence.  It  pre- 
vents freedom  of  thought  and  action.  It  makes  a  screw  of 
a  man  who  is  certainly  not  without  generous  impulses,  as  I 
know,  my  poor  old  Harpagon :  for  hast  thou  not  offered  to 
open  thy  purse  to  me  ?  I  tell  you  I  am  sick  of  the  way  in 
which  people  in  London,  especially  good  people,  think 
about  money.  You  live  up  to  your  income's  edge.  You  are 
miserably  poor.  You  brag  and  flatter  yourselves  that  you 
owe  no  man  anything ;  but  your  estate  has  creditors  upon 
it  as  insatiable  as  any  usurer,  and  as  hard  as  any  bailiff. 
You  call  me  reckless,  and  prodigal,  and  idle,  and  all  sorts 
of  names,  because  I  live  in  a  single  room,  do  as  little  work 
as  I  can,  and  go  about  with  holes  in  my  boots  :  and  you 
flatter  j-ourself  you  are  prudent,  because  you  liave  a  genteel 
house,  a  grave  flunky  out  of  livery,  and  two  green-grocers  to 
wait  when  you  give  your  half-dozen  dreary  dinner-parties. 
Wretched  man  !     You  are  a  slave  :  not  a  man.     You  are  a 


374  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

pauper,  with  a  good  house  and  good  clothes.  You  are  so 
miserably  prudent,  that  all  your  money  is  spent  for  you, 
except  the  few  wretched  shillings  which  you  allow  yourself 
for  pocket-money.  You  tremble  at  the  expense  of  a  cab. 
I  believe  you  actually  look  at  half  a  crown  before  you 
spend  it.  The  landlord  is  your  master.  The  livery-stable 
keeper  is  your  master,  A  train  of  ruthless,  useless  ser- 
vants are  your  pitiless  creditors,  to  whom  you  have  to  pay 
exorbitant  dividends  every  day.  I,  with  a  hole  in  my 
elbow,  who  live  upon  a  shilling  dinner,  and  walk  on  cracked 
boot-soles,  am  called  extravagant,  idle,  reckless,  I  don't 
know  what ;  while  you,  forsooth,  consider  yourself  prudent. 
Miserable  delusion !  You  are  flinging  away  heaps  of 
money  on  useless  flunkies,  on  useless  maid-servants,  on 
useless  lodgings,  on  useless  finery  —  and  you  say,  '  Poor 
Phil  !  what  a  sad  idler  he  is  !  how  he  flings  himself  aAvay  ! 
in  what  a  wretched,  disreputable  manner  he  lives  ! '  Poor 
Phil  is  as  rich  as  you  are,  for  he  has  enough,  and  is  con- 
tent. Poor  Phil  can  afford  to  be  idle,  and  you  can't.  You 
must  work  in  order  to  keep  that  great  hulking  footman, 
that  great  raw-boned  cook,  that  army  of  babbling  nursery- 
maids, and  I  don't  know  what  more.  And  if  you  choose  to 
submit  to  the  slavery  and  degradation  inseparable  from 
your  condition  ;  —  the  wretched  inspection  of  candle-ends, 
which  you  call  order ;  —  the  mean  self-denials,  which  you 
must  daily  practise  —  I  pity  you  and  don't  quarrel  with 
you.  But  I  wish  you  would  not  be  so  insufferably  virtuous, 
and  ready  with  your  blame  and  pity  for  w.e.  If  I  am 
happy,  pray  need  you  be  disquieted?  Suppose  I  prefer 
independence,  and  shabby  boots  ?  Are  not  these  better 
than  to  be  pinched  by  your  abominable  varnished  conven- 
tionalism, and  to  be  denied  the  liberty  of  free  action  ?  My 
poor  fellow,  I  pity  you  from  my  heart ;  and  it  grieves  me 
to  think  how  those  fine  honest  children  —  honest,  and 
hearty,  and  frank,  and  open  as  yet  —  are  to  lose  their 
natural  good  qualities,  and  to  be  swathed,  and  swaddled, 
and  stifled  out  of  health  and  honesty  by  that  obstinate 
w^orldling  their  father.  Don't  tell  me  about  the  world ;  I 
know  it.  People  sacrifice  the  next  world  to  it,  and  are  all 
the  while  proud  of  their  prudence.  Look  at  my  miserable 
relations,  steeped  in  respectability.  Look  at  my  father. 
There  is  a  chance  for  him,  now  he  is  down  and  in  poverty. 
I  have  had  a  letter  from  him,  containing  more  of  that 
dreadful  worldly  advice  which  you  Pharisees  give.     If  it 


ON  HIS    WAV   TlinOUGH   THE    WORLD.        375 

weren't  for  Laura  and  the  children,  sir,  I  heartily  wish  you 
Avere  ruined  like  your  att'ectionate  —  V.  F. 

''X.B.,  P.S.  —  Oh,  Pen!  I  am  so  happy  !  She  is  such  a 
little  darling  !  I  bathe  in  her  innocence,  sir  !  I  strengthen 
myself  in  her  purity.  I  kneel  before  her  sweet  goodness 
an\l  unconsciousness  of  guile.  I  walk  from  my  room,  and 
see  her  every  morning  before  seven  o'clock.  I  see  her 
every  afternoon.  She  loves  you  and  Laura.  And  you  love 
her,  don't  you  ?  And  to  think  that  six  months  ago  I  was 
going  to  marry  a  woman  without  a  heart !  Why,  sir,  bless- 
ings be  on  the  poor  old  father  for  spending  our  money,  and 
rescuing  me  from  that  horrible  fate  !  I  might  have  been 
like  that  fellow  in  the  'Arabian  Nights,'  who  married 
Amina  —  the  respectable  woman,  who  dined  upon  grains  of 
rice,  but  supped  upon  cold  dead  body.  Was  it  not  worth 
all  the  money  I  ever  was  heir  to  to  have  escaped  from  that 
ghoul  ?  Lord  Ringwood  says  he  thinks  I  was  well  out  of 
that.  He  calls  people  by  Anglo-Saxon  names,  and  uses  very 
expressive  monosyllables  ;  and  of  Aunt  Twysden,  of  Uncle 
Twysden,  of  the  "girls,  and  their  brother,  he  speaks  in  a 
way  which  makes  me  see  he  has  come  to  just  conclusions 
about  them. 

"  P.S.  No.  2.  —  Ah,  Pen  !  She  is  such  a  darling.  I  think 
I  am  the  happiest  man  in  the  world." 

And  this  was  what  came  of  being  ruined !  A  scapegrace, 
who,  when  he  had  plenty  of  money  in  his  pocket,  was  ill- 
tempered,  imperious,  and  discontented ;  now  that  he  is  not 
worth  twopence,  declares  himself  the  happiest  fellow  in 
the  world  !  Do  you  remember,  my  dear,  how  he  used  to 
grumble  at  our  claret,  and  what  wry  faces  he  made  when 
there  was  only  cold  meat  for  dinner "?  The  wretch  is  abso- 
lutely contented  with  bread  and  cheese  and  small  beer, 
even  that  bad  beer  which  they  have  in  Paris  ! 

Now  and  again,  at  this  time,  and  as  our  mutual  avoca- 
tions permitted,  I  saw  Philip's  friend,  the  Little  Sister. 
He  wrote  to  her  dutifully  from  time  to  time.  He  told  her 
of  his  love-atfair  with  ^liss  Charlotte ;  and  mv  wife  and  I 
could  console  Caroline,  by  assuring  her  that  this  time  the 
young  man's  heart  was  given  to  a  worthy  mistress.  I  say 
console,  for  the  news,  after  all,  was  sad  for  her.  In  the 
little  chamber  which  she  always  kept  ready  for  him,  he 
woidd  lie  awake,  and  think  of  some  one  dearer  to  him  than 
a  hundred  poor  Carolines.  She  wouid  devise  something 
that  should  be  agreeable  to  the  young  lady.     At  Christmas 


376  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

time  there  came  to  Miss  Baynes  a  wonderfully  worked 
cambric  pocket-liaudkercliief,  with  "  Charlotte  "  most  beau- 
tifully embroidered  in  the  corner.  It  was  this  poor 
widow's  mite  of  love  and  tenderness  which  she  meekly 
laid  down  in  the  place  where  she  worshipped.  "And  I 
have  six  for  him,  too,  ma'am,"  Mrs.  Brandon  told  my  wife. 
"  Poor  fellow !  his  shirts  was  in  a  dreadful  way  when  he 
went  away  from  here,  and  that  you  know,  ma'am."  So 
you  see  this  wayfarer,  having  fallen  among  undoubted 
thieves,  yet  found  many  kind  souls  to  relieve  him,  and 
many  a  good  Samaritan  ready  with  his  twopence,  if  need 
were. 

The  reason  why  Philip  was  the  happiest  man  in  the 
world  of  course  you  understand.  French  people  are  very 
early  risers ;  and,  at  the  little  hotel  where  Mr.  Philip  lived, 
the  whole  crew  of  the  iiouse  were  up  hours  before  lazy 
English  masters  and  servants  think  of  stirring.  At  ever 
so  early  an  hour  Phil  had  a  fine  bowl  of  coffee  and  milk 
and  bread  for  his  breakfast ;  and  he  was  striding  down  to 
the  Invalides,  and  across  the  bridge  to  the  Champs  Elysees, 
and  the  fumes  of  his  pipe  preceded  him  with  a  pleasant 
odor.  And  a  short  time  after  passing  the  Bond  Point  in  the 
Elysian  Fields,  where  an  active  fountain  was  flinging  up 
showers  of  diamonds  to  the  sky,  —  after,  I  say,  leaving  the 
Bond  Point  on  his  right,  and  passing  under  umbrageous 
groves  in  the  dirt^tion  of  the  present  Castle  of  Flowers, 
Mr.  Philip  would  see  a  little  person.  Sometimes  a  young 
sister  or  brother  came  with  the  little  person.  Sometimes 
only  a  blush  fluttered  on  her  cheek,  and  a  sweet  smile 
beamed  in  her  face  as  she  came  forward  to  greet  him.  For 
the  angels  were  scarce  purer  than  this  young  maid ;  and 
Una  was  no  more  afraid  of  the  lion,  than  Charlotte  of  her 
companion  with  the  loud  voice  and  the  tawny  mane.  T 
would  not  have  envied  that  reprobate's  lot  who  should 
have  dared  to  say  a  doubtful  word  to  this  Una :  but  the 
truth  is,  she  never  thought  of  danger,  or  met  with  any. 
The  workmen  were  going  to  their  labor ;  the  dandies  were 
asleep ;  and  considering  their  age,  and  the  relationship  in 
which  they  stood  to  one  another,  I  am  not  surprised  at 
Philip  for  announcing  that  this  was  the  happiest  time  of 
his  life.  In  later  days,  when  two  gentlemen  of  mature  a.c^e 
happened  to  be  in  Paris  together,  what  must  Mr.  Philip 
Firmin  do  but  insist  upon  walking  me  sentimentally  to  the 
Champs    Elysees,   and    looking   at  an  old   house    there,   a 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD. 


377 


rather  shabby  old  house  in  a  garden.  "That  was  the 
place,"  sighs  he.  "  That  was  Madame  de  Smolensk's. 
That  was  the  window,  the  third  one,  with  the  green 
jalousie.  By  Jove,  sir,  how  happy  and  how  miserable  I 
have  been  behind  that  green  blind  I "  And  my  friend 
shakes  his  large  fist  at  the  somewhat  dilapidated  mansion, 


378  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

whence  Madame  de  Smolensk  and  her  boarders  have  long 
since  departed. 

I  fear  that  baroness  had  engaged  in  her  enterprise  with 
insufficient  capital,  or  conducted  it  with  such  liberality 
that  her  profits  were  eaten  up  by  her  boarders.  I  could 
tell  dreadful  stories  impugning  the  baroness's  moral  char- 
acter. People  said  she  had  no  right  to  the  title  of  baroness 
at  all,  or  to  the  noble  foreign  name  of  Smolensk.  People 
are  still  alive  who  knew  her  under  a  different  name. 
The  baroness  herself  was  what  some  amateurs  call  a  fine 
woman,  especially  at  dinner-time,  when  she  appeared  in 
black  satin  and  with  cheeks  that  blushed  up  as  far  as  the 
eyelids.  In  her  j^eignolr  in  the  morning,  she  was  perhaps 
the  reverse  of  fine.  Contours  which  were  round  at  nighty 
in  the  forenoon  appeared  lean  and  angular.  Her  roses 
only  bloomed  half  an  hour  before  dinner-time  on  a  cheek 
which  was  quite  yellow  until  five  o'clock.  I  am  sure  it  is 
very  kind  of  elderly  and  ill-complexioned  people  to  supply 
the  ravages  of  time  or  jaundice,  and  present  to  our  view  a 
figure  blooming  and  agreeable,  in  place  of  an  object  faded 
and  withered.  Do  you  quarrel  with  your  opposite  neigh- 
bor for  painting  his  house-front  or  putting  roses  in  his 
balcony  ?  You  are  rather  thankful  for  the  adornment. 
Madame  de  Smolensk's  front  was  so  decorated  of  after- 
noons. Geraniums  were  set  pleasantly  under,  those  first- 
floor  windows,  her  eyes.  Carcel  lamps  beamed  from  those 
windows :  lamps  which  she  had  trimmed  with  her  own 
scissors,  and  into  which  that  poor  widow  poured  the  oil 
which  she  got  somehow  and  anyhow.  When  the  dingy 
breakfast  paplllotes  were  cast  of  an  afternoon,  what  beauti- 
ful black  curls  appeared  round  her  brow !  The  dingy 
paplllotes  were  put  away  in  the  drawer :  the  peignoir 
retired  to  its  hook  behind  the  door :  the  satin  raiment 
came  forth,  the  shining,  the  ancient,  the  well-kept,  the  well- 
wadded  :  and  at  the  same  moment  the  worthy  woman  took 
that  smile  out  of  some  cunning  box  on  her  scanty  toilet- 
table —  that  smile  which  she  wore  all  the  evening  along 
with  the  rest  of  her  toilet,  and  took  out  of  her  mouth 
when  she  went  to  bed  and  to  think  —  to  think  how  both 
ends  were  to  be  made  to  meet. 

Philip  said  he  respected  and  admired  that  woman :  and 
worthy  of  respect  she  was  in  her  way.  She  painted  her 
face  and  grinned  at  poverty.  She  laughed  and  rattled 
with  care  gnawing  at  her  side.     She  had  to  coax  the  milk- 


O.V  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        379 

man  out  of  his  human  kindness:  to  pour  oil  —  his  own  oil 
—  upon  the  stormy  epic.ier's  soul :  to  melt  the  butterman  : 
to  tap  the  Avine-merchant :  to  mollify  the  butcher :  to 
invent  new  pretexts  for  the  landlord :  to  reconcile  the  lady 
boarders.  Mrs,  General  Baynes,  let  us  say,  and  the  Hon- 
orable ]\[rs.  Boldero,  who  were  always  quarrelling :  to  see 
that  the  dinner,  when  procured,  was  cooked  properly ;  that 
Francois,  to  whom  she  owed  ever  so  many  months'  wages, 
was  not  too  rebellious  or  intoxicated;  that  Auguste,  also 
her  creditor,  had  his  glass  clean  and  his  lamps  in  order. 
And  this  work  done  and  the  hour  of  six  o'clock  arriving, 
she  had  to  carve  and  be  agreeable  to  her  table ;  not  to  hear 
the  growls  of  the  discontented  (and  at  what  table-d'hote 
are  there  not  gruuiblers  ?)  ;  to  have  a  word  for  everybody 
present ;  a  smile  and  a  laugh  for  Mrs.  Bunch  (with  whom 
there  had  been  very  likely  a  dreadful  row  in  the  morning) ; 
a  remark  for  the  Colonel ;  a  polite  phrase  for  the  General's 
lady ;  and  even  a  good  word  and  compliment  for  sulky  Au- 
guste,  who  just  before  dinner-time  had  unfolded  the  napkin 
of  mutinj"  about  his  wages. 

Was  not  this  enough  work  for  a  woman  to  do  ?  Tc  con- 
duct a  great  house  without  sufficient  money,  and  make 
soup,  fish,  roasts,  and  half  a  dozen  entrees  out  of  wind  as  it 
were  ?  to  conjure  up  wine  in  piece  and  by  the  dozen  ?  to 
laugh  and  joke  without  the  least  gayety  ?  to  receive  scorn, 
abuse,  rebuffs,  insolence,  with  gay  good-humor  ?  and  then 
to  go  to  bed  wearied  at  night,  and  have  to  think  about  fig- 
ures and  that  dreadful,  dreadful  sum  in  arithmetic  —  given 
51.  to  pay  6/.  ?  Lady  Macbeth  is  supposed  to  have  been  a 
resolute  woman  :  and  great,  tall,  loud,  hectoring  females  are 
set  to  represent  the  character.  I  say  ISTo.  She  was  a  weak 
woman.  She  began  to  walk  in  her  sleep,  and  blab  after 
one  disagreeable  little  incident  had  occurred  in  her  house. 
She  broke  down,  and  got  all  the  people  away  from  her  own 
table  in  the  most  abrupt  and  clumsy  manner,  because  that 
drivelling,  epileptic  husband  of  hers  fancied  he  saw  a 
ghost.  In  Lady  Smolensk's  place  Madame  de  Macbeth 
would  have  broken  down  in  a  week,  and  Smolensk  lasted 
for  years.  If  twenty  gibbering  ghosts  had  come  to  the 
boarding-house  dinner,  madame  would  have  gone  on  carv- 
ing her  dishes,  and  smiling,  and  helping  the  live  guests,  the 
paying  guests ;  leaving  the  dead  guests  to  gibber  away 
and  help  themselves.  "My  poor  father  had  to  keep  up 
appearances,"  Phil  would  say,  recounting  these  things  in 


380  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

after  days  ;  "  but  how  ?  You  know  he  always  looked  as  if 
he  was  going  to  be  hung."  Smolensk  was  the  gayest  of 
the  gay  always.  That  widow  would  have  tripped  up  to  her 
funeral  pile  and  kissed  her  hands  to  her  friends  with  a 
smiling  "Bon  jour!" 

"  Pray,  who  was  Monsieur  de  Smolensk  ?  ''  asks  a  simple 
lady  who  may  be  listening  to  our  friend's  narrative. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  lady !  there  was  a  pretty  disturbance  in 
the  house  when  that  question  came  to  be  mooted,  I  promise 
you,"  says  our  friend,  laughing,  as  he  recounts  his  adven- 
tures. And,  after  all,  what  does  it  matter  to  you  and  me 
and  this  story  who  Smolensk  was  ?  I  am  sure  this  poor 
lady  had  hardships  enough  in  her  life  campaign,  and  that 
Ney  himself  could  not  have  faced  fortune  with  a  constancy 
more  heroical. 

Well.  When  the  Bayneses  first  came  to  her  house,  I  tell 
you  Smolensk  and  all  round  her  smiled,  and  our  friends 
thought  they  were  landed  in  a  real  rosy  Elysium  in  the 
Champs  of  that  name.  Madame  had  a  Carrick  a  VIndienne 
prepared  in  compliment  to  her  guests.  She  had  had  many 
Indians  in  her  establishment.  ^' he  adored  Indians.  Netait 
ce  la  polygamie  —  they  were  most  estimable  people,  the 
Hindus.  Sur  tout,  she  adored  Indian  shawls.  That  of 
Madame  la  Generale  was  ravishing.  The  company  at 
Madame's  was  pleasant.  The  honorable  Mrs.  Boldero  was 
a  dashing  woman  of  fashion  and  respectability,  who  had 
lived  in  the  best  world  —  it  was  easy  to  see  that.  The 
young  ladies'  duets  were  very  striking  The  Honorable 
Mr.  Boldero  was  away  shooting  in  Scotland  at  his  brother, 
Lord  Strongitharm's,  and  would  take  Gaberlunzie  Castle 
and  the  duke's  on  his  way  south.  Mrs.  Baynes  did 
not  know  Lady  Estridge,  the  ambassadress?  When  the 
Estridges  returned  from  Chantilly,  the  Honorable  Mrs.  B. 
wouldbe  delighted  to  introduce  her.  "Your  pretty  girl's 
name  is  Charlotte  ?  So  is  Lady  Estridge's  —  and  very 
nearly  as  tall;  —  fine  girls  the  Estridges;  fine  long  necks 
—  large  feet  —  but  your  girl,  Lady  Baynes,  has  beautiful 
feet.  Lady  Baynes,  I  said  ?  Well,  you  must  be  Lady 
Baynes  soon.  The  General  must  be  a  K.C.B.  after  his  ser- 
vices. What,  you  know  Lord  Trim  ?  He  will,  and  must, 
do  it  for  you.  If  not,  my  brother  Strongitharm  shall."  1 
have  no  doubt  Mrs.  Baynes  was  greatly  elated  by  the  atten- 
tions of  Lord  Strongitharm's  sister  ;  and  looked  him  out  in 
tiie  Peerage,  where  his  Lordship's  arms,  pedigree,  and  resi- 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        381 

dence  of  Gcaberlunzie  Castle  are  duly  recorded.  The 
Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero's  daughters,  the  Misses  Minna  and 
Brenda  Boldero.  played  some  rattling  sonatas  on  a  piano 
which  was  a  good  deal  fatigued  by  their  exertions,  for  the 
young  ladies'  hands  were  very  powerful.  And  madaiue 
said,  "Thank  you,''  with  her  sweetest  smile  ;  and  Auguste 
handed  about  on  a  silver  tray  —  I  say  silver,  so  that  the 
convenances  may  not  be  wounded  —  well,  say  silver  that 
was  blushing  to  lind  itself  copper  —  handed  up  on  a  tray  a 
white  drink  which  made  the  Baynes  boys  cr}'  out,  "  I  say, 
mother,  what's  this  beastly  thing  ?  "  On  which  madame, 
with  the  sweetest  smile,  appealed  to  the  company,  and  said, 
"  They  love  orgeat,  these  dear  infants  !  "  and  resumed  her 
piquet  with  old  ^L  Bidois  —  that  odd  old  gentleman  with 
the  long  brown  coat,  with  the  red  ribbon,  who  took  so  much 
snuff  and  blew  his  nose  so  often  and  so  loudly.  One,  two, 
three  rattling  sonatas  ^linna  and  Brenda  played;  Mr. 
Clancy,  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin  (M.  de  Clanci,  Madame 
called  him),  turning  over  the  leaves,  and  presently  being 
persuaded  to  sing  some  Irish  melodies  for  the  ladies.  I 
don't  think  ]\[iss  Charlotte  Baynes  listened  to  the  music 
much.  She  Avas  listening  to  another  music,  which  she  and 
Mr.  Firmin  were  performing  together.  Oh,  how  pleasant 
that  music  used  to  be  !  There  was  a  sameness  in  it,  I  dare 
say,  but  still  it  was  pleasant  to  hear  the  air  over  again. 
The  pretty  little  duet  a  quatre  mains,  where  the  hands 
cross  over,  and  hop  up  and  down  the  keys,  and  the  heads 
get  so  close,  so  close.  Oh,  duets,  oh,  regrets  !  Psha!  no 
more  of  this.  Go  down  stairs,  old  dotard.  Take  your  hat 
and  umbrella  and  go  walk  by  the  sea-shore,  and  whistle  a 
toothless  old  solo.  "  These  are  our  quiet  nights,"  whispers 
M.  de  Clanci  to  the  Baynes  ladies,  when  the  evening  draws 
to  an  end.  "  Madame's  Thursdays  are,  I  promise  ye,  much 
more  fully  attended."  Good-night,  good-night.  A  squeeze 
of  a  little  hand,  a  hearty  hand-shake  from  ])apa  and  mamma, 
and  Philip  is  striding  through  the  dark  Elysian  fields  and 
over  the  Place  of  Concord  to  his  lodgings  in  the  Faubourg 
St.  Germain.  Or,  stay  !  What  is  that  glowworm  beaming 
by  the  wall  opposite  ^Nfadame  de  Smolensk's  house  ?  —  a 
glowworm  that  wafts  an  aromatic  incense  and  odor  ?  I  do 
believe  it  is  ]\[r.  Philip's  cigar.  And  he  is  watching,  watch- 
ing a  window  b}^  which  a  slim  figure  flits  now  and  again. 
Then  darkness  falls  on  the  little  window.  The  sweet  eyes 
are  closed.     Oh,  blessings,  blessings  be  upon  them  !     The 


382  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP, 

stars  shine  overhead.     And  homeward  stalks  Mr.  Firmin, 
talking  to  himself,  and  brandishing  a  great  stick. 

I  wish  that  poor  Madame  Smolensk  could  sleep  as  well  as 
the  people  in  her  house.  But  Care,  with  the  cold  feet,  gets 
under  the  coverlid,  and  says,  "  Here  I  am ;  you  know  that 
bill  is  coming  due  to-morrow."  Ah,  atra  cura !  can't  you 
leave  the  poor  thing  a  little  quiet?  Hasn't  she  had  work 
euougli  all  day  ? 


CHAPTEE  XX. 


COURSE    OF    TRUE    LOVE. 


E  beg  the  gracious  reader  to 
remember  that  Mr.  Philip's 
business  at  Paris  was  only 
with  a  weekly  London  paper 
as  yet ;  and  hence  that  he 
had  on  his  hands  a  great  deal 
of  leisure.  He  could  glance 
over  the  state  of  Europe ; 
give  the  latest  news  from 
the  salons,  imparted  to  him, 
I  do  believe,  for  the  most 
part,  by  some  brother  hire- 
ling scribes ;  be  present  at 
all  the  theatres  by  deputy; 
and  smash  Louis  Philippe  or 
Messieurs  Guizot  and  Thiers 
in  a  few  easily  turned  para- 
graphs, which  cost  but  a  very 
few  hours'  labor  to  that  bold 
and  rapid  pen.  A  whole- 
some though  humiliating 
thought  it  must  be  to  great  and  learned  public  writers,  that 
their  eloquent  sermons  are  but  for  the  day ;  and  that,  hav- 
ing read  what  the  philosophers  sa}'  on  Tuesday  or  Wednes- 
day, we  think  about  their  3'esterday's  sermons  or  essays  no 
more.  A  score  of  years  hence,  men  will  read  the  papers  of 
1861  for  the  occurrences  narrated  —  births,  marriages,  bank- 
ruptcies, elections,  murders,  deaths,  and  so  forth ;  and  not 
for  the  leading  articles.  "■  Though  there  were  some  of  my 
letters,"  Mr.  Philip  would  say,  in  after  times,  '-that  I  fondly 
fancied  the  world  would  not  willingly  let  die.  I  wanted  to 
have  them  or  see  them  reprinted  in  a  volume,  but  I  could 
find  no  publisher  willing  to  undertake  the  risk.  A  fond 
being,  who  fancies  there  is  genius  in  everything  I  say  or 


■himw^^'A^-^-- 


384  THE^  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

write,  would  haVe  had  me  reprint  my  letters  to  the  Pall 
Mall  Gazette ;  'but  I  was  too  timid,  or  she,  perhaps,  was  too 
eonlident.  ."«The  letters  never  were  republished.  Let  them 
pass."  They  have  passed.  And  he  sighs,  in  mentioning 
this  circumstance ;  and  I  think  tries  to  persuade  himself, 
rather  than  others,  that  he  is  an  unrecognized  genius. 

"  And  then,  you  know,"  he  pleads,  "  I  was  in  love,  sir,  and 
spending  all  my  days  at  Omphale's  knees.  I  didn't  do  jus- 
tice to  my  powers.  If  I  had  had  a  daily  paper,  I  still  think 
I  might  have  made  a  good  public  writer ;  and  that  J.  had  the 
stuff  in  me  —  the  stuff  in  me,  sir  !  " 

The  truth  is  that,  if  he  had  had  a  daily  paper,  and  ten 
times  as  much  work  as  fell  to  his  lot,  Mr.  Philip  would  have 
found  means  of  pursuing  his  inclination,  as  he  ever  through 
life  has  done.  The  being  whom  a  young  man  wishes  to  see, 
he  sees.  What  business  is  superior  to  that  of  seeing  her  ? 
'Tis  a  little  Hellespontine  matter  keeps  Leander  from  his 
Hero  ?  He  would  die  rather  than  not  see  her.  Had  he 
swum  out  of  that  difficulty  on  that  stormy  night,  and  car- 
ried on  a  few  months  later,  it  might  have  been,  "  Beloved ! 
my  cold  and  rheumatism  are  so  severe  that  the  doctor  says 
I  must  not  thuik  of  cold  bathing  at  night;"  or,  "Dearest! 
we  have  a  party  at  tea,  and  you  mustn't  expect  your  ever 
fond  Lambda  to-night,"  and  so  forth,  and  so  forth.  But  in 
the  heat  of  his  passion  water  could  not  stay  him ;  tempests 
could  not  frighten  him;  and  in  one  of  them  he  went  dov/n, 
while  poor  Hero's  lamp  was  twinkling  and  spending  its  best 
flame  in  vain.  So  Philip  came  from  Sestos  to  Abydos  daily 
—  across  one  of  the  bridges,  and  paying  a  halfpenny  toll 
very  likely — and,  late  or  early,  poor  little  Charlotte's  virgin 
lamps  were  lighted  in  her  eyes,  and  watching  for  him. 

Philip  made  many  sacrifices,  mind  you :  sacrifices  which 
all  men  are  not  in  the  habit  of  making.  When  Lord  Ring- 
wood  was  in  Paris,  twice,  thrice  he  refused  to  dine  with  his 
lordship,  until  that  nobleman  smelt  a  rat,  as  the  saying  is  — 
and  said,  "Well,  youngster,  I  suppose  you  are  going  where 
there  is  metal  more  attractive.  When  you  come  to  twelve 
lustres,  my  boy,  j^ou'll  find  vanity  and  vexation  in  that  sort 
of  thing,  and  a  good  dinner  better,  and  cheaper,  too,  than 
the  best  of  them."  And  when  some  of  Philip's  rich  college 
friends  met  him  in  his  exile,  and  asked  him  to  the  "Rocher  " 
or  the  "  Trois  Freres,"  he  would  break  away  from  those  ban- 
quets ;  and  as  for  meeting  at  those  feasts  doubtful  compan- 
ions, whom  young  men  will  sometimes  invite  to  their  en- 


ox  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THEm'OltLD.        385 

tertaiiiments,  Philip  tiii-ned  from  such  with  acorn  and  anger. 
His  virtue  was  loud,  and  he  proclaimed  it  ftj^ly.  ■«- He- ex- 
pected little  Charlotte  to  give  him  credit  for  n^^id  toM  he\- 
of  his  self-denial.  And  she  believed  anything  n^sltid^  and 
delighted  in  ever3-thing  he  wrote  ;  and  copied  out^iii^^ti- 
cles  for  the  Foil  Mall  Gazette  ;  and  treasured  his  poems  «i 
her  desk  of  desks :  and  there  never  Avas  in  all  Sestos,  in  all 
Abydos,  in  all  Europe,  in  all  Asia  Minor  or  Asia  Major,  such 
a  noble  creature  as  Leander,  Hero  thought ;  never,  never ! 
I  hope,  young  Jadies,  3'ou  may  all  have  a  Leander  on  his 
way  to  the  tower  where  the  light  of  your  love  is  burning 
steadfastly.  I  hope,  3'oung  gentlemen,  you  have  each  of  you 
a  beacon  in  sight,  and  may  meet  with  no  mishap  in  swim- 
ming to  it. 

From  my  previous  remarks  regarding  Mrs.  Baynes,  the 
reader  has  been  made  aware  that  the  General's  wife  was  no 
more  faultless  than  the  rest  of  her  fellow-creatures ;  and 
having  already  candidly  informed  the  public  that  the  writer 
and  his  family  Avere  no  favorites  of  this  lady,  I  have  now 
the  pleasing  duty  of  recording  my  own  opinions  regarding 
her.  Mrs.  General  B.  was  an  early  riser.  She  was  a  frugal 
woman  ;  fond  of  her  young,  or,  let  us  say,  anxious  to  provide 
for  their  maintenance;  and  here,  with  my  best  compliments, 
I  think  the  catalogue  of  her  good  qualities  is  ended.  She 
had  a  bad,  violent  temper ;  a  disagreeable  person,  attired  in 
very  bad  taste ;  a  shrieking  voice ;  and  two  manners,  the  re- 
spectful and  the  patronizing,  which  were  both  alike  odious. 
When  she  ordered  Baynes  to  marry  her,  gracious  powers ! 
why  did  he  not  run  away  ?  Who  dared  first  to  say  that 
marriages  are  made  in  heaven  ?  We  know  that  there  are 
not  only  blunders,  but  roguery  in  the  marriage  office.  Do 
not  mistakes  occur  every  day,  and  are  not  the  Avrong  people 
coupled  ?  Had  heaven  anything  to  do  with  the  bargain  by 
which  3'Oung  Miss  Blushrose  was  sold  to  old  Mr.  Hoarfrost? 
Did  heaven  order  young  iSIiss  Tripper  to  throw  over  poor 
Tom  Spooner,  and  marry  the  wealthy  ]\rr.  Bung  ?  You  may 
as  well  sa}'  that  horses  are  sold  in  heaven,  which,  as  you 
know,  are  groomed,  are  doctored,  are  chanted  on  to  the 
market,  and  warranted  by  dexterous  horse-venders  as  pos- 
sessing every  quality  of  blood,  pace,  temper,  age.  Against 
these  Mr.  Greenhorn  has  his  remedy  sometimes  ;  but  against 
a  mother  who  sells  you  a  warranted  daughter,  Avhat  remedy 
is  there  ?  You  have  been  jockeyed  by  false  representations 
into  bidding  for  the  Cecilia,  and  the  animal  is  yours  for  life. 

VOL.    I. — 25 


386  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

She  sliies,  kicks,  stumbles,  has  an  infernal  temper,  is  a  crib- 
biter —  and  she  was  warranted  to  you  by  her  mother  as  the 
most  perfect,  good-tempered  creature,  wliom  the  most  timid 
might  manage !  You  have  bought  her.  8he  is  yours. 
Heaven  bless  you !  Take  her  home,  and  be  miserable  for 
the  rest  of  your  days.  You  have  no  redress.  You  have 
done  the  deed.  Marriages  were  made  in  heaven,  you  know; 
and  in  yours  you  were  as  much  sold  as  Moses  Primrose  was 
when  he  bought  the  gross  of  green  spectacles. 

I  don't  think  poor  General  Baynes  ever,  had  a  proper 
sense  of  his  situation,  or  kneAv  how  miserable  he  ought  by 
rights  to  have  been.  He  Avas  not  uncheerful  at  times :  a 
silent  man,  liking  his  rubber,  and  his  gliss  of  wine,  a  very 
weak  person  in  the  common  affairs  of  life  as  his  best 
friends  must  own;  but,  as  I  have  heard,  a  very  tiger  in 
action.  "I  know  your  opinion  of  the  General,"  Philip  used 
to  say  to  me,  in  his  grandiloquent  way.  "You  despise 
men  who  don't  bully  their  wives ;  you  do,  sir  !  You  think 
the  General  weak,  I  know,  I  know.  Other  brave  men  were 
so  about  women,  as  I  dare  say  you  have  heard.  This  man, 
so  weak  at  home,  was  mighty  on  the  war-path ;  and  in  his 
"vrigwam  are  the  scalps  of  countless  warriors." 

"In  his  wig  ?rArt^.^"  say  I.  The  truth  is,  on  his  meek 
head  the  General  wore  a  little  curling  chestnut  top-knot, 
which  looked  very  queer  and  out  of  place  over  that  wrin- 
kled and  war-worn  face. 

"If  3'ou  choose  to  laugh  at  your  joke,  pray  do,"  says 
Phil,  majestically.  "  I  make  a  noble  image  of  a  warrior. 
You  prefer  a  barber's  pole.  Bon!  Pass  me  the  wine. 
The  veteran  Avhom  I  hope  to  salute  as  father  ere  long  — 
the  soldier  of  twenty  battles,  Avho  saw  my  own  brave 
grandfather  die  at  his  side  —  die  at  Busaco,  by  George  — 
you  laugh  at  on  account  of  his  wig.  It's  a  capital  joke." 
And  here  Phil  scowled  and  slapped  the  table,  and  passed 
his  hand  across  his  eyes,  as  though  the  death  of  his  grand- 
father, which  occurred  long  before  Philip  was  born,  caused 
him  a  very  serious  pang  of  grief.  Philip's  newspaper  busi- 
ness brought  him  to  London  on  occasions.  I  think  it  was 
on  one  of  these  visits  that  we  had  our  talk  about  General 
Baynes.  And  it  was  at  the  same  time  Philip  described  the 
boarding-house  to  us,  and  its  inmates,  and  the  landlady, 
and  the  doings  there. 

For  that  struggling  landlady,  as  for  all  women  in  dis- 
tress, our  friend  had  a  great  sympathy  and  liking ;  and  she 


ox  ins  ]VAy  rnnoLXiH  the  would.      387 

returned  Philip's  kindness  by  being  very  good  to  Mademoi- 
selle Charlotte,  and  very  forbearing  with  the  General's 
wife  and  his  other  children.  The  appetites  of  those  little 
ones  were  frightful,  the  temper  of  Madame  la  Generale 
was  almost  intolerable,  but  Charlotte  was  an  angel,  and  the 
General  was  a  mutton  —  a  true  mutton.  Her  own  father 
had  been  so.  The  brave  are  often  muttons  at  home.  I 
suspect  that,  though  madame  could  have  made  but  little 
proht  by  the  General's  family,  his  monthly  payments  were 
very  welcome  to  her  meagre  little  exchequer.  "  Ah  !  if  all 
my  locataires  were  like  him!"  sighed  the  poor  lady.  "That 
Madame  Boldero,  whom  the  Generaless  treats  always  as 
Honorable,  I  wish  I  was  as  sure  of  hers !  And  others 
again  ! " 

I  never  kept  a  boarding-house,  but  I  am  sure  there  must 
be  many  painful  duties  attendant  on  that  profession. 
What  can  you  do  if  a  lady  or  gentleman  doesn't  pay  his 
bill  ?  Turn  him  or  her  out  ?  Perhaps  the  very  thing  that 
lady  or  gentleman  would  desire.  They  go.  Those  -trunks 
which  you  have  insanely  detained,  and  about  which  you 
have  made  a  hght  and  a  scandal,  do  not  contain  a  hundred 
francs'  worth  of  goods,  and  your  debtors  never  come  back 
again.  You  do  not  like  to  have  a  row  in  a  boarding-house 
any  more  than  you  would  like  to  have  a  party  with  scarlet- 
fever  in  your  best  bedroom.  The  scarlet-fever  party  staj^s, 
and  the  other  boarders  go  away.  What,  you  ask,  do  I 
mean  by  this  m  vster}^  ?  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  give  up 
names,  and  titled  names.  I  am  sorry  to  say  the  Honor- 
able Mrs.  Boldero  did  not  pay  her  bills.  She  was  waiting 
for  remittances  which  the  Honorable  Boldero  was  dreadfully 
remiss  in  sending.  A  dreadful  man.  He  was  still  at  his 
lordship's  at  Gaberlunzie  Castle,  shooting  the  wild  deer 
and  hunting  the  roe.  And  though  the  Honorable  Mrs. 
B.'s  heart  was  in  the  Highlands,  of  course  how  could  she 
join  her  Highland  chief  without  the  money  to  pay  madame  ? 
The  Highlands,  indeed !  One  dull  da}^  it  came  out  that  the 
Honorable  Boldero  was  amusing  himself  in  uhe  Highlands 
of  Hesse  Homburg ;  and  engaged  in  the  dangerous  sport 
which  is  to  be  had  in  the  green  plains  about  Loch  Baden- 
bade  noch  ! 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  depravity  ?  The  woman  is 
a  desperate  and  un}»rincipled  adventuress !  I  wonder 
madame  dares  to  put  me  and  my  children  and  my  General 
down  at  table  with  such  people  as  those,  Philip ! "  cries 


388  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

Madame  la  Generale.  "I  mean  those  opposite  —  that 
woman  and  her  two  daughters  who  haven't  paid  madame 
a  shilling  for  three  months  —  who  owes  me  live  hundred 
francs,  which  she  borrowed  until  next  Tuesday,  expecting 
a  remittance  —  a  pretty  remittance,  indeed  —  from  Lord 
Strongitharm.  Lord  Strongitharm,  I  dare  say!  And  she 
pretends  to  be  most  intimate  at  the  embassy ;  and  that  she 
would  introduce  us  there,  and  at  the  Tuileries ;  and  she 
told  me  Lady  Garterton  had  the  small-pox  in  the  house ; 
and  when  I  said  all  ours  had  been  vaccinated,  and  I  didn't 
mind,  she  fobbed  me  off  with  some  other  excuse ;  and  it's 
my  belief  the  woman's  a  humbug.  Overhear  me !  I  don't 
care  if  she  does  overhear  me.  No.  You  may  look  as  much 
as  you  like,  my  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero ;  and  I  don't  care 
if  you  do  overhear  me.  Ogoost !  Pomdytare  pour  le 
General !  How  tough  madame's  boof  is,  and  it's  boof, 
boof,  boof  every  day  till  I'm  sick  of  boof.  Ogoost!  why 
don't  you  attend  to  my  children  ?  "     And  so  forth. 

By  this  report  of  the  worthy  woman's  conversation,  you 
will  see  that  the  friendship  which  had  sprung  up  between 
the  two  ladies  had  come  to  an  end,  in  consequence  of  pain- 
ful pecuniary  disputes  between  them ;  that  to  keep  a  board- 
ing-house can't  be  a  very  pleasant  occupation;  and  that 
even  to  dine  in  a  boarding-house  must  be  only  bad  fun 
when  the  company  is  frightened  and  dull,  and  when  there 
are  two  old  women  at  table  ready  to  fling  the  dishes  at  each 
other's  fronts.  At  the  period  of  which  I  now  write,  I 
promise  you,  there  was  very  little  of  the  piano-duet  business 
going  on  after  dinner.  In  the  first  place  everybody  knew 
the  girls'  pieces,  and  when  they  began,  Mrs.  General 
Baynes  would  lift  up  a  voice  louder  than  the  jingling  old 
instrument,  thumped  Minna  and  Brenda  ever  so  loudly. 
"  Perfect  strangers  to  me,  Mr.  Clancy,  I  assure  you.  Had 
I  known  her,  you  don't  suppose  I  would  have  lent  her  the 
money.  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero,  indeed.  Pive  weeks  she 
has  owed  me  five  hundred  frongs.  Bong  swor.  Monsieur 
Bidois.  Sang  song  frong  pas  payy  encor !  Prommy,  pas 
payy ! ''  Fancy,  I  say,  what  a  dreary  life  that  must  have 
been  at  the  select  boarding-house,  where  these  two  parties 
were  doing  battle  daily  after  dinner !  Pancy,  at  the  select 
soirees,  the  General's  lady  seizing  upon  one  guest  after 
another,  and  calling  out  her  wrongs  and  pointing  to  the 
wrong-doer ;  and  poor  Madame  Smolensk,  smirking  and 
smiling  and  flying  from  one  end  of  the  salon  to  the  other, 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        389 

and  thanking  M.  Pivoine  for  his  charming  romance,  and  M. 
Brumm  for  his  admirable  performance  on  the  violoncello, 
and  eveL  asking  those  poor  Miss  Bolderos  to  perform  their 
duet  —  for  her  heart  melted  towards  them.  Xot  ignorant 
of  evil,  she  had  learned  to  succor  the  miserable.  She 
knew  what  poverty  was  and  had  to  coax  scowling  duns  and 
wheedle  vulgar  creditors.  "Tenez,  Monsieur  Philippe," 
she  said,  "the  Geiierale  is  too  cruel.  There  are  others 
here  who  might  complain,  and  are  silent."  Philip  lelt  all 
this  ;  the  conduct  of  his  future  mother-in-law  filled  him 
with  dismay  and  horror.  And  some  time  after  these 
remarkable  circumstances  he  told  me,  blushing  as  he 
spoke,  a  humiliating  secret.  "  Do  3'ou  know,  sir,"  says  he, 
"  that  that  autumn  I  made  a  pretty  good  thing  of  it  with 
one  thing  or  another.  I  did  my  work  for  the  Fall  Mall 
Gazette:  and  Smith  of  the  Daily  Intellifjencer,  wanting  a 
month's  holiday,  gave  me  his  letter  and  ten  francs  a  day. 
And  at  that  very  time  I  met  Eedman,  who  had  owed  me  twenty 
pounds  ever  since  we  were  at  college,  and  who  Avas  just 
coming  back  flush  from  Homburg,  and  paid  me.  Well,  now. 
Swear  you  won't  tell.  SAvear  on  your  faith  as  a  Christian 
man !  With  this  money  I  Avent,  sir,  privily  to  Mrs.  Bol- 
der©. I  said  if  she  Avould  pay  the  dragon  —  I  mean  Mrs. 
Baynes  —  I  AA^ould  lend  her  the  money.  And  I  did  lend 
her  the  money,  and  the  Boldero  never  paid  back  Mrs. 
Baynes.  Don't  mention  it.  Promise  me  you  Avon't  tell 
Mrs.  Baynes.  I  never  expected  to  get  Redman's  money, 
you  know,  and  am  no  worse  off  than  before.  One  day  of 
the  Grandes  Eaux  Ave  Avent  to  Versailles,  I  think,  and  the 
Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero  gaA'e  us  the  slip.  She  left  the 
poor  girls  behind  her  in  pledge,  AA^ho,  to  do  them  justice, 
cried  and  Avere  in  a  dreadful  Avay ;  and  when  Mrs.  Baynes, 
on  our  return,  began  shrieking  about  her  'sang  song  frong,' 
Madame  Smolensk  fairly  lost  patience  for  once,  and  said, 
'  Mais,  madame,  vous  nous  fatiguez  avec  a^os  cinq  cent 
francs  ; '  on  Avhich  the  other  muttered  something  about 
'  Ansolong,'  but  was  briskly  taken  up  by  her  husband,  AAdio 
said,  'By  George,  Eliza,  madame  is  quite  right.  And  I 
Avisli  the  fiA^e  hundred  francs  Avere  in  the  sea.' " 

Thus,  you  understand,  if  ]\rrs.  General  Baynes  thought 
some  people  Avere  "  stuck-up  people,"  some  people  can  — 
and  hereby  do  by  these  presents  —  pay  off  ]Mrs.  Baynes,  by 
furnishing  the  public  Avith  a  candid  opinion  of  that  lady's 
morals,  manners,  and  character.     How  cou'd  such  a  shrcAvd 


390  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

Avoman  be  dazzled  so  repeatedly  by  ranks  and  titles  ?  There 
used  to  dine  at  ^ladame  Smolensk's  boarding-house  a  certain 
German  baron,  with  a  large  linger-ring,  upon  a  dingy  finger, 
towards  whom  the  lady  was  pleased  to  cast  the  eye  of  favor, 
and  who  chose  to  fall  in  love  with  her  pretty  daughter  ; 
young  Mr.  Clancy,  the  Irish  poet,  was  also  smitten  with  the 
charms  of  the  fair  young  lady  ;  and  this  intrepid  mother 
encouraged  both  suitors,  to  the  unspeakable  agonies  of  Philip 
Firmin,  who  felt  often  that  whilst  he  was  away  at  his  work 
these  inmates  of  Madame  Smolensk's  house  were  -near  his 
charmer  —  at  her  side  at  lunch,  ever  handing  her  the  cup  at 
breakfast,  on  the  watch  for  her  when  she  walked  forth  in 
the  garden ;  and  I  take  the  pangs  of  jealousy  to  have  formed 
a  part  of  those  unspeakable  sufferings  which  Philip  said  he 
endured  in  the  house  whither  he  came  courting. 

Little  Charlotte,  in  one  or  two  of  her  letters  to  her  friends 
in  Queen  Square,  London,  meekly  complained  of  Philip's 
tendency  to  jealousy.  "  Does  he  think,  after  knowing  him, 
1  can  think  of  these  horrid  men  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  don't 
understand  what  ]\Ir.  Clancy  is  talking  about,  when  he  comes 
to  me  with  his  '  pomes  and  potry  ; '  and  who  can  read  poetry 
like  Philip  himself?  Then  the  G-erman  baron — who  does 
not  call  even  himself  baron  :  it  is  mamma  who  will  insist 
upon  calling  him  so  — has  such  very  dirty  things,  and  smells 
so  of  cigars,  that  I  don't  like  to  come  near  him.  Philip 
smokes  too,  but  his  cigars  are  quite  pleasant.  Ah,  dear 
friend,  how  could  he  ever  think  such  men  as  these  were  to 
be  put  in  comparison  with  him  !  And  he  scolds  so ;  and 
scowls  at  the  poor  men  in  the  evening  when  he  comes  !  and 
his  temper  is  so  high  !  Do  say  a  word  to  him  — quite  cau- 
tiously and  gently,  you  know  —  in  behalf  of  your  fondly 
attached  and  most  happy  —  only  he  will  make  me  unhappy 
sometimes ;  but  you'll  prevent  him,  won't  you  ?  —  Char- 
lotte B." 

I  could  fancy  Philip  hectoring  through  the  part  of  Othello, 
and  his  poor  young  Desdemona  not  a  little  frightened  at  his 
black  humors.  Such  sentiments  as  jV[r.  Philip  felt  strongly, 
he  expressed  with  an  uproar.  Charlotte's  correspondent,  as 
usual,  made  light  of  these  little  domestic  confidences  and 
grievances.  "Women  don't  dislike  a  jealous  scolding,"  she 
said.  "  It  may  be  rather  tiresome,  but  it  is  always  a  com- 
pliment. Some  husbands  think  so  well  of  themselves,  that 
they  can't  condescend  to  be  jealous."  "  Yes,"  I  saj^, ''  women 
prefer  to  have  t^a-ants  over  them.     A  scolding  you  think  is 


ox  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  391 

a  mark  of  attention.  Hadn't  you  better  adopt  the  Russian 
system  at  once,  and  go  out  and  buy  me  a  whip,  and  present 
it  to  me  with  a  courtesy,  and  3^  oui-  compliments  ;  and  a 
meek  prayer  that  I  should  use  it/"'  ''Present  you  a  whip  ! 
present  j^ou  a  goose  !  "  saj^s  the  lad}^,  who  encourages  scold- 
ing in  other  husbands,  it  seems,  but  won't  suffer  a  word 
from  her  own. 

Both  disputants  had  set  their  sentimental  hearts  on  the 
marriage  of  this  young  man  and  this  youn.2:  woman.  Little 
Charlotte's  heart  was  so  bent  on  the  match,  that  it  would 
break,  we  fancied,  if  she  were  disappointed ;  and  in  her 
mother's  behavior  we  felt,  from  the  knowledge  we  had  of 
the  woman's  disposition,  there  was  a  serious  cause  for 
alarm.  Should  a  better  offer  present  itself,  INIrs.  Baynes, 
we  feared,  would  fling  over  poor  Philip :  or  it  was  in  reason 
and  nature  that  he  would  come  to  a  quarrel  with  her,  and 
in  the  course  of  the  pitched  battle  which  must  ensue  be- 
tween them,  he  would  hre  off  expressions  mortally  injurious. 
Are  there  not  many  people,  in  every  one's  acquaintance, 
who,  as  soon  as  they  have  made  a  bargain,  repent  of  it? 
Philip,  as  "  preserver  "  of  General  Baynes,  in  the  first  fervor 
of  family  gratitude  for  that  act  of  self-sacrihce  on  the 
young  man's  part,  was  very  well.  But  gratitude  wears  out; 
or  suppose  a  woman  says,  "It  is  my  duty  to  mj^  child  to 
recall  my  word,  and  not  allow  her  to  fling  herself  away  on 
a  beggar."  Suppose  that  you  and  I,  strongly  inclined  to  do 
a  mean  action,  get  a  good,  available,  and  moral  motive  for 
it  ?  I  trembled  for  poor  Philip's  course  of  true  love,  and 
little  Charlotte's  chances,  when  these  surmises  crossed  my 
mind.  There  was  a  hope  still  in  the  honor  and  gratitude  of 
General  Baynes.  He  would  not  desert  his  young  friend  and 
benefactor.  Xow  General  Baynes  was  a  brave  man  of  war, 
and  so  was  John  of  ^Marlborough  a  brave  man  of  war ;  but 
it  is  certain  that  both  were  afraid  of  their  wives. 

We  have  said  by  .vhose  invitation  and  encouragement 
General  Baynes  was  induced  to  bring  his  family  to  the 
boarding-house  at  Paris ;  the  instigation,  namely,  of  his 
friend  and  companion  in  arms,  the  gallant  Colonel  Bunch. 
AVhen  the  Baynes  family  arrived,  the  Bunches  were  on  the 
steps  of  madame's  house,  waving  a  welcome  to  their  new- 
comers. It  was,  "  Here  we  are.  Bunch,  my  boy."  "  Glad 
to  see  you,  Baynes.  Right  well  you're  looking,  and  so's 
Mrs.  B."  And  the  General  replies,  "  And  so  are  you,  Bunch ; 
and  so  do  t/ou,  Mrs.  B."     '^  How  do,  boys  ?     How  d'you  do, 


392  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

Miss  Charlotte  ?  Come  to  show  the  Paris  fellows  what  a 
pretty  girl  is,  hey  ?  Blooming  like  a  rose,  Bayiies  !  "  "I'm 
telling  the  General,"  cries  the  Colonel  to  the  General's  lady, 
"  the  girl's  the  very  image  of  her  mother."  In  this  case 
poor  Charlotte  must  have  looked  like  a  yellow  rose,  for 
]\[rs.  Baynes  was  of  a  bilious  temperament  and  complexion, 
whereas  Miss  Charlotte  was  as  fresh  pink  and  white  as  — 
what  shall  we  say? — as  the  very  freshest  strawberries 
mingled  with  the  very  nicest  cream. 

The  two  old  soldiers  were  of  very  great  comfort  to  one 
another.  They  toddled  down  to  Galignani's  together  daily, 
and  read  the  papers  there.  They  went  and  looked  at  the 
reviews  in  the  Carrousel,  and  once  or  twice  to  the  Champ 
de  Mars  :  —  recognizing  here  and  there  the  numbers  of  the 
regiments  against  which  they  had  been  engaged  in  the 
famous  ancient  w^ars.  They  did  not  brag  in  the  least  about 
their  achievements,  they  winked  and  understood  each  other. 
They  got  their  old  uniforms  out  of  their  old  boxes,  and 
took  a  volture  de  remise,  by  Jove  !  and  went  to  be  presented 
to  Louis  Philippe.  They  bought  a  catalogue,  and  went  to 
the  Louvre,  and  wagged  their  honest  old  heads  before  the 
pictures ;  and,  I  dare  say,  winked  and  nudged  each  other's 
brave  old  sides  at  some  of  the  nymphs  in  the  statue  gallery. 
They  went  out  to  Versailles  Avlth  their  families  ;  loyally 
stood  treat  to  the  ladies  at  the  restaurateur's.  (Bunch  had 
taken  down  a  memorandum  in  his  pocket-book  from  Benyon, 
who  had  been  the  duke's  aide-de-camp  in  the  last  campaign, 
to  '•  go  to  Beauvillier's,"  only  Beauvillier's  had  been  shut 
up  for  twenty  years.)  They  took  their  families  and  Char- 
lotte to  the  Theatre  Frangais,  to  a  tragedy  5  and  they  had 
books :  and  they  said  it  was  the  most  confounded  nonsense 
they  ever  saw  in  their  lives  ;  and  I  am  bound  to  say  that 
Bunch,  in  the  back  of  the  box,  snored  so  that,  though  in 
retirement,  he  created  quite  a  sensation.  "Corneal,"  he 
owns,  was  too  much  for  him  :  give  him  Shakspeare :  give 
him  John  Kemble  :  give  him  Mrs.  Siddons :  give  him  Mrs. 
Jordan.  But  as  for  this  sort  of  thing  ?  "I  think  our  play 
days  are  over,  Baynes,  —  hey?"  And  I  also  believe  that 
Miss  Charlotte  Baynes,  whose  knowledge  of  the  language 
was  imperfect  as  yet,  was  very  much  bewildered  during  the 
tragedy,  and  could  give  but  an  imperfect  account  of  it. 
But  then  Philip  Pirmin  was  in  the  orchestra  stalls  ;  and 
had  he  not  sent  three  bouquets  for  the  three  ladies,  regret- 
ting that  he  could  not  come  to  see  somebody  in  the  Champs 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        393 

Elysees,  because  it  was  liis  post  da}^,  aud  lie  must  write  his 
letter  for  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette  ?  There  he  was,  her  Cid ; 
her  peerless  champion :  and  to  give  up  father  and  mother 
iov  him?  oiu*  little  Chimene  thought  such  a  sacrifice  not 
too  difficult.  After  that  dismal  attempt  at  the  theatre,  the 
experiment  was  not  repeated.  The  old  gentlemen  pre- 
ferred their  w^hist  to  those  pompous  Alexandrines  sung 
through  the  nose,  which  Colonel  Bunch,  a  facetious  little 
Colonel,  used  to  imitate,  and,  I  am  given  to  understand, 
very  badly. 

The  good  gentlemen's  ordinary  amusement  was  a  game  at 
cards  after  dinner;  and  they  compared  Madame's  to  an  East 
Indian  ship,  quarrels  and  all.  Sarah  went  on  just  in  that 
way  on  board  the  "  Burrumpooter."  Always  rows  about 
precedence,  and  the  services,  and  the  deuce  knows  what. 
Women  always  will.  Sarah  Bunch  went  on  in  that  way : 
and  Eliza  Baynes  also  went  on  in  that  way ;  but  I  should 
think,  from  the  most  trustworthy^  information,  that  Eliza 
was  worse  than  Sarah. 

''About  any  person  with  a  title,  that  women  will  make  a 
fool  of  herself  to  the  end  of  the  chapter,"  remarked  Sarah 
of  her  friend.  "  You  remember  how  she  used  to  go  on  at 
Barrackpore  about  that  little  shrimp,  Stoney  Battersby, 
because  he  was  an  Irish  viscount's  son  ?  See  how  she  flings 
herself  at  the  head  of  this  Mrs.  Boldero,  —  with  her  airs, 
and  her  paint,  and  her  black  front  I  I  can't  bear  the  woman ! 
I  know  she  has  not  paid  madame.  I  know  she  is  no  better 
than  she  should  be  —  and  to  see  Eliza  Baynes  coaxing  her, 
and  sidling  up  to  her,  and  flattering  her ;  —  it's  too  bad, 
that  it  is  !  A  woman  who  owes  ever  so  much  to  madame  ! 
a  woman  who  doesn't  pay  her  washerwoman  I  " 

"  Just  like  the  '  Burrumpooter '  over  again,  my  dear," 
cries  Colonel  Bunch.  "  You  and  Eliza  Baynes  were  always 
quarrelling,  that's  the  fact.  Wh}'  did  you  ask  her  to  come 
here  ?  I  knew  you  would  begin  again,  as  soon  as  you  met." 
And  the  truth  was  that  these  ladies  were  always  fighting 
and  making  up  again. 

"  So  you  and  Mrs.  Bunch  were  old  acquaintances  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Boldero  of  her  new  friend.  "  My  dear  Mrs.  Baynes  ! 
I  should  hardly  have  thought  it :  your  manners  are  so  dif- 
ferent !  Your  friend,  if  I  may  be  so  free  as  to  speak,  has 
the  camp  manner.  You  have  not  the  camp  manner  at  all. 
I  should  have  thought  you  —  excuse  me  the  phrase,  but  I'm 
so  open,  and  always  speak  my  mind  out  —  you  haven't  the 


394  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

camp  manner  at  all.  You  seem  as  if  you  were  one  of  us. 
Minna !  doesn't   Mrs.  Baynes   put   you  in  mind   of   Lady 

Hm ? "     (The   name    is    inaudible,  in  consequence  of 

Mrs.  Boldero's  exceeding  shyness  in  mentioning  names  — 

but  the  girls  see  the  likeness  to  dear  Lady  Hm at  once.) 

''  And  when  you  bring  your  dear  girl  to  London  you'll  know 
the  lady  I  mean,  and  judge  for  yourself.  I  assure  you  I  am 
not  disparaging  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Baynes,  in  comparing 
you  to  her  !  " 

And  so  the  conversation  goes  on.  If  Mrs.  Major  Mac- 
Whirter  at  Tours  chose  to  betray  secrets,  she  could  give 
extracts  from  her  sister's  letters  to  show  how  profound  was 
the  impression  created  in  Mrs.  General  Baynes's  mind  by 
the  professions  and  conversations  of  the  Scotch  lady. 

"  Didn't  the  General  shoot,  and  love  deer-stalking  ?  The 
dear  General  must  come  to  Gaberlunzie  Castle,  where  she 
would  promise  him  a  Highland  welcome.  Her  brother 
Strongitharm  was  the  most  amiable  of  men ;  adored  her 
and  her  girls  :  there  was  talk  even  of  marrying  Minna  to 
the  Captain,  but  she,  for  her  part,  could  not  endure  the 
marriage  of  first-cousins.  There  was  a  tradition  against 
such  marriages  in  their  family.  Of  three  Bolderos  and 
Strongitharms  who  married  their  first-cousins,  one  was 
drowned  in  Gaberlunzie  lake  three  weeks  after  the  mar- 
riage ;  one  lost  his  wife  by  a  galloping  consumption,  and 
died  a  monk  at  Rome  ;  and  the  third  married  a  fortnight 
before  the  battle  of  Culloden,  where  he  was  slain  at  the 
head  of  the  Strongitharms.  ]\Irs.  Baynes  had  no  idea  of 
the  splendor  of  Gaberlunzie  Castle ;  seventy  bedrooms  and 
thirteen  company-rooms,  besides  the  picture-galler}^  I  In 
Edinburgh,  the  Strongitharm  had  the  right  to  wear  his 
bonnet  in  the  presence  of  his  sovereign."  "  A  bonnet !  how 
very  odd,  my  dear  !  But  with  ostrich  plumes,  I  dare  say  it 
may  look  well,  especially  as  the  Highlanders  wear  frocks, 
too."  "  Lord  Strongitharm  had  no  house  in  London,  having 
almost  ruined  himself  in  building  his  princely  castle  in  the 
North.  Mrs.  Baynes  must  come  there  and  meet  their  noble 
relatives  and  all  the  Scottish  nobility."  "Nor  do  /  care 
about  these  vanities,  my  dear,  but  to  bring  my  sweet 
Charlotte  into  the  world  :  is  it  not  a  mother's  duty  ?  " 

Not  only  to  her  sister,  but  likewise  to  Charlotte's  friends 
of  Queen  Square,  did  Mrs.  Baynes  impart  these  delightful 
news.  But  this  is  in  the  first  ardor  of  the  friendship 
which  arises  between  Mrs.  Baynes  and  Mrs.  Boldero,  and 


ox  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        395 

before  those  unpleasant  money  disputes  of  which  we  have 
spoken. 

Afterwards,  when  the  two  ladies  have  quarrelled  regard- 
ing the  memorable  "  sang  song  frong,"  I  think  Mrs.  Bunch 
came  round  to  Mrs.  Boldero's  side.  "Eliza  Baynes  is  too 
hard  on  her.  It  is  too  cruel  to  insult  her  before  those  two 
unhappy  daughters.  The  woman  is  an  odious  woman,  and 
a  vulgar  woman,  and  a  schemer,  and  I  always  said  so.  But 
to  box  her  ears  before  her  daughters  —  her  honorable  friend 
of  last  week  !  it's  a  shame  of  Eliza  !  " 

"My  dear,  you'd  better  tell  her  so  !  "  says  Bunch,  dryly. 
"  But  if  you  do,  tell  her  when  I'm  out  of  the  way,  please  !  " 
And  accordingly,  one  day  when  the  two  old  officers  return 
from  their  stroll,  Mrs.  Bunch  informs  the  Colonel  that  she 
has  had  it  out  with  Eliza  :  and  Mrs.  Baynes,  with  a  heated 
face,  tells  the  General  that  she  and  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch 
have  quarrelled  ;  and  she  is  determined  it  shall  be  for 
the  last  time.  So  that  poor  Madame  de  Smolensk  has  to 
interpose  between  Mrs.  Baj'ues  and  ]\Irs.  Boldero  ;  between 
jSIrs.  Baynes  and  Mrs.  Bunch ;  and  to  sit  surrounded  by 
glaring  eyes,  and  hissing  innuendoes,  and  in  the  midst  of 
feuds  unhealable.  Of  course,  from  the  women  the  quarrel- 
ling will  spread  to  the  gentlemen.  That  always  happens. 
Poor  madame  trembles.  Again  Bunch  gives  his  neighbor 
his  word  that  it  is  like  the  "Burrumpooter " East Indiaman 
—  the  "  Burrumpooter  "  in  very  bad  weather,  too. 

"At  any  rate,  we  won't  be  lugged  into  it,  Baj'nes  my 
boy ! "  says  the  Colonel,  who  is  of  a  sanguine  temperament, 
to  his  friend. 

"  Hey,  hey  !  don't  be  too  sure,  Bunch  ;  don't  be  too  sure," 
sighs  the  other  veteran,  who,  it  may  be,  is  of  a  more  de- 
sponding turn,  as,  after  a  battle  at  luncheon,  in  which  the 
Amazons  were  fiercely  engaged,  the  two  old  warriors  take 
their  Avalk  to  Galignani's. 

Towards  his  Charlotte's  relatives  poor  Philip  was  respect- 
ful by  duty  and  a  sense  of  interest,  perhaps.  Before  mar- 
riage, especially,  men  are  very  kind  to  the  relatives  of  the 
beloved  object.  They  pay  compliments  to  mamma ;  they 
listen  to  papa's  old  stories,  and  laugh  appositely  ;  they 
bring  presents  for  the  innocent  young  ones,  and  let  the 
little  brothers  kick  their  shins.  Philip  endured  the  juvenile 
Bayneses  ver}^  kindly  :  he  took  the  boys  to  Franconi's,  and 
made  his  conversation  as  suitable  as  he  could  to  the  old 
people.     He  was  fond  of  the  old  General,  a  simple  and 


396  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

worthy  old  man;  and  had,  as  we  have  said,  a  hearty- 
sympathy  and  respect  for  Madame  Smolensk,  admiring  her 
constancy  and  good-humor  under  her  many  trials.  But 
those  who  have  perused  his  memoirs  are  aware  that  Mr. 
Firmin  could  make  himself,  on  occasions,  not  a  little  dis- 
agreeable. When  sprawling  on  a  sofa,  engaged  in  conver- 
sation with  his  charmer,  he  would  not  budge,  when  other 
ladies  entered  the  room.  He  scowled  at  them,  if  he  did 
not  like  them.  He  was  not  at  the  least  trouble  to  conceal 
his  likes  or  dislikes.  He  had  a  manner  of  hxing  his  glass 
in  his  eye,  putting  his  thumbs  into  the  armholes  of  his 
waistcoat,  and  talking  and  laughing  very  loudly  at  his  own 
jokes  or  conceits,  which  was  not  pleasant  or  respectful  to 
ladies. 

"  Your  loud  young  friend,  with  the  cracked  boots,  is  very 
mauvais  to?i,  my  dear  Mrs.  Baynes,"  Mrs.  Boldero  remarked 
to  her  new  friend,  in  the  first  ardor  of  their  friendship. 
''  A  relative  of  Lord  Ringwood's,  is  he  ?  Lord  Eingwood 
is  a  very  queer  person.  A  son  of  that  dreadful  Dr.  Firmin, 
who  ran  away  after  cheating  everybody  ?  Poor  young 
man !  He  can't  help  having  such  a  father,  as  you  say,  and 
most  good,  and  kind,  and  generous  of  you  to  say  so.  And 
the  General  and  the  Honorable  Philip  Pingwood  were 
early  companions  together,  I  dare  say.  But,  having  such 
an  unfortunate  father  as  Dr.  Firmin,  I  think  Mr.  Firmin 
might  be  a  little  less  ^^ro?io?Z("e;  don't  you?  And  to  see 
him  in  cracked  boots,  sprawling  over  the  sofas,  and  hear 
him,  when  my  loves  are  playing  their  duets,  laughing  and 
talking  so  very  loud  —  I  confess  isn't  pleasant  to  me.  I 
am  not  used  to  that  kind  of  monde,  nor  are  my  dear  loves. 
You  are  under  great  obligations  to  him,  and  he  has  behaved 
nobly,  you  say  ?  Of  course.  To  get  into  your  society  an 
unfortunate  young  man  will  be  on  his  best  behavior,  though 
he  certainly  does  not  condescend  to  be  civil  to  us.  But  .  .  . 
What!  that  young  man  engaged  to  that  lovely,  innocent, 
charming  child,  your  daughter  ?  My  dear  creature,  you 
frighten  me  !  A  man  with  such  a  father ;  and,  excuse  me, 
with  such  a  manner ;  and  without  a  penny  in  the  world, 
engaged  to  Miss  Baynes !  G-oodness,  powers  !  It  must 
never  be.  It  shall  not  be,  my  dear  Mrs.  Baynes.  Why,  I 
have  written  to  my  nephew  Lenox  to  come  over,  Strongith- 
arni's  favorite  son  and  my  favorite  nephew.  I  have  told 
him  that  there  is  a  sweet  young  creature  here,  whom  he 
must  and  ought  to  see.     How  well  that  dear  child  would 


OiV  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        397 

look  presiding  at  Strongitharm  Castle  ?  And  yon  are  going 
to  give  her  to  that  dreadful  young  man  with  the  loud  voice 
and  the  cracked  boots  —  that  smoky  young  man  —  oh,  im- 
possible ! " 

Madame  had,  no  doubt,  given  a  very  favorable  report  of  her 
new  lodgers  to  the  other  inmates  of  her  house  ;  and  she 
and  Mrs.  Boldero  had  concluded  that  all  general  officers 
returning  from  India  were  immensely  rich.  To  think  that 
her  daughter  might  be  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Strongitharm, 
Baroness  Strongitharm,  and  walk  in  a  coronation  in  robes, 
with  a  coronet  in  her  hand  !  Mrs.  Baynes  yielded  in  loyalty 
to  no  w^oman,  but  I  fear  her  wicked  desires  compassed  a 
speedy  royal  demise,  as  this  thought  passed  through  her 
mind  of  the  Honorable  Lenox  Strongitharm.  She  looked 
him  out  in  the  Peerage,  and  found  that  young  nobleman  des- 
ignated as  the  Captain  of  Strongitharm  !  Charlotte  might 
be  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Captain  of  Strongitharm  !  When 
poor  Phil  stalked  in  after  dinner  that  evening  in  his  shabby 
boots  and  smoky  paletot,  Mrs.  Baynes  gave  him  but  a  grim 
welcome.  He  went  and  prattled  unconsciously  by  the  side 
of  his  little  Charlotte,  whose  tender  eyes  dwelt  upon  his, 
and  whose  fair  cheeks  flung  out  their  blushes  of  welcome. 
He  prattled  away.  He  laughed  out  loud  whilst  Minna  and 
Brenda  were  thumping  their  duet.  "  Taisez-vous  done,  Mon- 
sieur Philippe,"  cries  madame,  putting  her  finger  to  her  lip. 
The  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero  looked  at  dear  Mrs.  Baynes, 
and  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Poor  Philip  I  would  he  have 
laughed  so  loudly  (and  so  rudely  too,  as  I  own)  had  he 
known  what  was  passing  in  the  minds  of  those  women  ? 
Treason  was  passing  there  :  and  before  that  glance  of  know- 
ing scorn,  shot  from  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero's  eyes, 
dear  Mrs.  General  Baynes  faltered.  How  very  curt  and 
dry  she  was  with  Philip  !  how  testy  with  Charlotte  !  Poor 
Philip,  knowing  that  his  charmer  was  in  the  power  of  her 
mother,  was  pretty  humble  to  this  dragon ;  and  attempted, 
by  uncouth  flatteries,  to  soothe  and  propitiate  her.  She 
had  a  queer,  dr}^  humor,  and  loved  a  joke  ;  but  Phil's  fell 
very  flat  this  night.  Mrs.  Baynes  received  his  pleasantries 
with  an  "  Oh,  indeed  !  "  She  was  sure  she  heard  one  of  the 
children  crying  in  their  nursery.  *' Do,  pray,  go  and  see, 
Charlotte,  what  that  child  is  crying  about."  And  away  goes 
poor  Charlotte,  having  but  dim  presentiment  of  misfortune 
as  yet.  Was  not  mamma  often  in  an  ill  humor  ;  and  were 
they  not  all  used  to  her  scoldings  ? 


398  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

As  for  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that,  up  to 
this  time,  Philip  was  not  only  no  favorite  with  her,  but  was 
heartily  disliked  by  that  lady.  I  have  told  you  our  friend's 
faults.  He  was  loud  :  he  was  abrupt :  he  was  rude  often : 
and  often  gave  just  cause  of  annoyance  by  his  laughter,  his 
disresj)ect,  and  his  swaggering  manner.  To  those  whom  he 
liked  he  was  as  gentle  as  a  woman ;  and  treated  them  with 
an  extreme  tenderness  and  touching  rough  respect.  But 
those  persons  about  whom  he  was  indifferent,  he  never  took 
the  least  trouble  to  conciliate  or  please.  If  they  told  long 
stories,  for  example,  he  would  turn  on  his  heel,  or  interrupt 
them  by  observations  of  his  own  on  some  quite  different 
subject.  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  then,  positively  disliked  that 
young  man,  and  I  think  had  very  good  reasons  for  her  dis- 
like. As  for  Bunch,  Bunch  said  to  Baynes,  "  Cool  hand, 
that  young  fellow ! "  and  winked.  And  Baynes  said  to 
Bunch,  "Queer  chap.  Fine  fellow,  as  I  have  reason  to 
know  pretty  well.  I  play  a  club.  No  club  ?  I  mark 
honors  and  two  tricks."  And  the  game  went  on.  Clancy 
hated  Philip :  a  meek  man  whom  Pirmin  had  yet  managed 
to  offend.  ''That  man,"  the  poet  Clancy  remarked,  "has  a 
manner  of  treading  on  me  corrans  which  is  intolerable  to 
me ! " 

The  truth  is,  Philip  was  always  putting  his  foot  on  some 
other  foot,  and  trampling  it.  And  as  for  the  Boldero  clan, 
Mr.  Pirmin  treated  them  with  the  most  amusing  insolence, 
and  ignored  them  as  if  they  w^ere  out  of  existence  altogether. 
So  you  see  the  poor  fellow^  had  not  wdth  his  poverty  learned 
the  least  lesson  of  humility,  or  acquired  the  very  earliest 
rudiments  of  the  art  of  making  friends.  I  think  his  best 
friend  in  the  house  was  its  mistress,  Madame  Smolensk. 
Mr.  Philip  treated  her  as  an  equal :  which  mark  of  affability 
he  was  not  in  the  habit  of  bestowing  on  all  persons.  Some 
great  people,  some  rich  people,  some  would-be-fine  people, 
he  would  patronize  with  an  insufferable  audacit3^  Bank  or 
wealth  do  not  seem  somehow  to  influence  this  man,  as  they 
do  common  mortals.  He  would  tap  a  bishop  on  the  waist- 
coat, and  contradict  a  duke  at  their  first  meeting.  I  have 
seen  him  walk  out  of  church  during  a  stupid  sermon,  with 
an  audible  remark  perhaps  to  that  effect,  and  as  if  it  were 
a  matter  of  course  that  he  should  go.  If  the  company 
bored  him  at  dinner,  he  would  go  to  sleep  in  the  most 
unaffected  manner.  At  home  we  were  always  kept  in  a 
pleasant  state  of  anxiety,  not  only  by  what  he  did  and  said, 


O.V  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        399 

but  by  the  idea  of  what  he  might  do  or  say  next.  He  did 
not  go  to  sleep  at  madame's  boarding-house,  preferring  to 
keep  his  eyes  open  to  look  at  pretty  Charlotte's.  And  were 
there  ever  such  sapphires  as  his  ?  she  thought.  And  hers  ? 
Ah !  if  they  have  tears  to  shed,  I  hope  a  kind  fate  will  dry 
them  quickly ! 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


TREATS    OF    DANCING,  DINING,    DYING. 

LD  scliool-boys  remember 
how,  when  pious  ^neas 
was  compelled  by  pain- 
ful circumstances  to  quit 
his  country,  he  and  his 
select  band  of  Trojans 
founded  a  new  Troy, 
where  they  landed; 
raising  temples  to  the 
Trojan  gods ;  building 
streets  with  T  r  o  j  a  n 
names ;  and  endeavor- 
ing, to  the  utmost  of 
their  power,  to  recall 
their  beloved  native 
place.  In  like  manner 
British  Trojans  and  French  Trojans  take  their  Troy  every- 
where. Algiers  I  have  only  seen  from  the  sea;  but  New 
Orleans  and  Leicester  Square  I  have  visited  ;  and  have  seen 
a  quaint  old  France  still  lingering  on  the  banks  of  the 
Mississippi ;  a  dingy  modern  France  round  that  great 
Globe  of  Mr.  Wyld's,  which  they  say  is  coming  to  an  end. 
There  are  French  cafes,  billiards,  estaminets,  waiters, 
markers,  poor  Frenchmen,  and  rich  Frenchmen,  in  a  new 
Paris  —  shabby  and  dirty,  it  is  true  —  but  offering  the 
emigrant  the  dominoes,  the  chopine,  the  petit-verre  of  the 
patrie.  And  do  not  British  Trojans,  who  emigrate  to  the 
continent  of  Europe,  take  their  Troy  Avith  them  ?  You  all 
know  the  quarters  of  Paris  which  swarm  with  us  Trojans. 
From  Peace  Street  to  the  Arch  of  the  Star  are  collected 
thousands  of  refugees  from  our  Ilium.  Under  the  arcades 
of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  you  meet,  at  certain  hours,  as  many 
of  our  Trojans  as  of  the  natives.  In  the  Trojan  inns  of 
"  Meurice,"    the    "  Louvre,"   &c.,   Ave    swarm.      We    have 

400 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP.  401 

numerous  Auglo-Trojau  doctors  and  apothecaries,  who  give 
us  the  dear  pills  and  doses  of  Pergamus.  We  go  to  Mrs. 
Guerre  or  kind  Mrs.  Colombin,  and  can  purchase  the  sand- 
wiches of  Troy,  the  pale  ale  and  sherry  of  Troy,  and  the 
dear,  dear  muffins  of  home.  We  live  for  years,  never 
speaking  any  language  but  our  native  Trojan  ;  except  to  our 
servants,  whom  we  instruct  in  the  Trojan  way  of  preparing 
toast  for  breakfast;  Trojan  bread-sauce  for  fowls  and 
partridges;  Trojan  corn-beef,  i&c.  We  have  temples  where 
Ave  worship  according  to  the  Trojan  rites.  A  kindly  sight 
is  that  which  one  beholds  of  a  Sunday  in  the  Elysian  fields 
and  the  St.  Honore  quarter,  of  processions  of  English  grown 
people  and  children,  stalwart,  red-cheeked,  marching  to 
their  churches,  their  gilded  prayer-books  in  hand,  to  sing  in 
a  stranger's  land  the  sacred  songs  of  their  Zion.  I  am  sure 
there  are  many  English  in  Paris  who  never  speak  to  any 
native  above  the  rank  of  a  waiter  or  shopman.  Not  long 
since  I  was  listening  to  a  Erenchman  at  Folkestone,  speak- 
ing English  to  the  waiters  and  acting  as  interpreter  for  his 
party.  He  spoke  p»retty  well  and  very  quickly.  He  was 
irresistibly  comical.  1  wonder  how  we  maintained  our 
gravity.  And  you  and  I,  my  dear  friend,  when  we  speak 
French,  I  dare  say  we  are  just  as  absurd.  As  absurd !  And 
why  not  ?  Don't  you  be  discouraged,  young  fellow.  Courage^ 
vionjeune  ami!  Remember,  Trojans  have  a  conquering  way 
with  them.  When  ^Eneas  landed  at  Carthage,  I  dare  say 
he  spoke  Carthaginian  with  a  ridiculous  Trojan  accent ;  but, 
for  all  that,  poor  Dido  fell  desperately  in  love  with  him. 
Take  example  by  the  son  of  Anchises,  my  boy.  iSTever 
mind  the  grammar  or  the  pronunciation,  but  tackle  the  lady, 
and  sjDeak  j^our  mind  to  her  as  best  you  can. 

This  is  the  plan  which  the  Vicomte  de  Loisy  used  to 
adopt.  He  was  following  a  cours  of  English  according  to 
the  celebrated  methode  Johson.  The  cours  assembled  twice 
a  week ;  and  the  Vicomte,  with  laudable  assiduity,  went  to 
all  English  parties  to  which  he  could  gain  an  introduction, 
for  the  purpose  of  acquiring  the  English  language,  and 
marrying  une  Anglaise.  This  industrious  young  man  even 
went  au  Temple  on  Sundays  for  the  purpose  of  familiariz- 
ing himself  with  the  English  language ;  and  as  he  sat  un- 
der Dr.  Murrogh  iMacmanus  of  T.  C.  I).,  a  very  eloquent 
preacher  at  Paris  in  those  days,  the  Vicomte  acquired  a 
very  fine  pronunciation.  Attached  to  the  cause  of  unfortu- 
nate monarchy  all  over  the  world,  the  Vicomte  had  fought 

VOL.    I.  —  26 


402  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

ill  the  Spaiiisli  Carlist  armies.  He  waltzed  well :  and 
iiiadame  thought  his  cross  looked  nice  at  her  parties. 
Will  it  be  believed  that  Mrs.  General  Baynes  took  this 
gentleman  into  special  favor ;  talked  with  him  at  soiree 
after  soiree  ;  never  laughed  at  his  English  ;  encouraged  her 
girl  to  waltz  with  him  (which  he  did  to  perfection,  whereas 
poor  Philip  was  but  a  hulking  and  clumsy  performer)  ;  and 
showed  him  the  very  greatest  favor,  until  one  day,  on  going 
into  Mr.  Bonus's,  the  house-agent  (who  lets  lodgings,  and 
sells  British  pickles,  tea,  sherry,  and  the  like),  she  found 
the  Vicomte  occupying  a  stool  as  clerk  in  Mr.  Bonus's 
establishment,  where  for  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year  he 
gave  his  invaluable  services  during  the  day  !  Mrs.  Baynes 
took  poor  midame  severely  to  task  for  admitting  such  a 
man  to  her  assemblies.  Madame  was  astonished.  Monsieur 
Avas  a  gentleman  of  ancient  family  who  had  met  with 
misfortunes.  He  was  earning  his  maintenance.  To  sit  in 
a  bureau  was  not  a  dishonor.  Knowing  that  houtiq^iie  meant 
shop  and  gar^on  meant  boy,  Mrs.  Baynes  made  use  of  the 
words  boutique  gargon  the  next  time  she  saw  the  Vicomte. 
The  little  man  wept  tsars  of  rage  and  mortihcation.  There 
was  a  very  painful  scene,  at  which,  thank  mercy,  poor 
Charlotte  thought,  Philip  was  not  present.  Were  it  not 
for  the  General's  cheveux  hlancs  (by  which  phrase  the 
Vicomte  very  kindly  designated  General  Baynes's  chestnut 
top-knot),  the  Vicomte  would  have  had  reason  from  him. 
"Charming  miss,"  he  said  to  Charlotte,  "your  respectable 
papa  is  safe  from  my  sword !  Madame  your  mamma  has 
addressed  me  words  which  I  qualify  not.  But  you  —  you 
are  too  'andsome,  too  good,  to  despise  a  poor  soldier,  a  poor 
gentleman!"  I  have  heard  the  Vicomte  still  dances  at 
boarding-houses  and  is  still  in  pursuit  of  an  Anglaise.  He 
must  be  a  wooer  now  almost  as  elderly  as  the  good  General 
whose  scalp  he  respected. 

Mrs.  Baynes  was,  to  be  sure,  a  heavy  weight  to  bear  for 
poor  madame,  but  her  lean  shoulders  were  accustomed  to 
many  a  burden ;  and  if  the  General's  wife  was  quarrelsome 
and  odious,  he,  as  madame  said,  was  as  soft  as  a  mutton ; 
and  Charlotte's  pretty  face  and  manners  were  the  admira- 
tion of  all.  The  yellow  Miss  Bolderos,  those  hapless 
elderly  orphans  left  in  pawn,  might  bite  their  lips  with 
envy,  but  they  never  could  make  them  ai  red  as  Miss 
Charlotte's  smiling  mouth.  To  the  honor  of  Madame 
Smolensk  be  it  said  that  never,  by  word  or  hint,  did  she 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        403 

cause  those  unliappy  3'ouug  ladies  any  needless  pain. 
She  never  stinted  them  of  any  meal.  jSTo  full-priced 
pensioner  of  madame's  could  have  breakfast,  luncheon, 
dinners  served  more  regularly.  The  day  after  their 
mother's  flight,  that  good  Madame  Smolensk  took  early 
cups  of  tea  to  the  girls'  rooms,  with  her  own  hands ;  and  I 
believe  helped  to  do  the  hair  of  one  of  them,  and  otherwise 
to  soothe  them  in  their  misfortune.  They  could  not  keep 
their  secret.  It  must  be  owned  that  ]\Irs.  Baynes  never 
lost  an  opportunity  of  deploring  their  situation  and 
acquainting  all  new-comers  with  their  mother's  flight  and 
transgression.  But  she  was  good-natured  to  the  captives  in 
her  grim  way :  and  admired  madame's  forbearance  regard- 
ing them.  The  two  old  officers  were  now  especially  polite 
to  the  poor  things :  and  the  General  rapped  one  of  his  boys 
over  the  knuckles  for  saying  to  Miss  Brenda,  "If  your 
uncle  is  a  lord,  why  doesn't  he  give  you  any  money  ? " 
"  And  these  girls  used  to  hold  their  heads  above  mine,  and 
their  mother  used  to  give  herself  such  airs  ! "  cried  Mrs. 
Baynes.  "  And  Eliza  Baynes  used  to  flatter  those  x^oor 
girls  and  their  mother,  and  fancy  they  were  going  to  make 
a  woman  of  fashion  of  her  ! "  said  Mrs.  Bunch.  "  We  all 
have  our  weaknesses.  Lords  are  not  yours,  my  dear.  Faith, 
I  don't  think  you  know  one,"  says  stout  little  Colonel 
Bunch.  "I  wouldn't  pay  a  duchess  such  court  as  Eliza 
paid  that  woman  I  "  cried  Sarah ;  and  she  made  sarcastic 
inquiries  of  the  General,  whether  Eliza  had  heard  from  her 
friend  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero  ?  But  for  all  this  Mrs. 
Bunch  pitied  the  young  ladies,  and  I  believe  gave  them  a 
little  supply  of  coin  from  her  private  purse.  A  word  as  to 
their  private  history.  Their  mamma  became  the  terror  of 
boarding-house  keepers  :  and  the  poor  girls  practised  their 
duets  all  over  Europe.  Mrs.  Boldero's  noble  nephew,  the 
present  Strongitharm  (as  a  friend  who  knows  the  fashion- 
able world  informs  me),  was  victimized  by  his  own  uncle, 
and  a  most  painful  affair  occurred  between  them  at  a  game 
at  "  blind  hookey."  The  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero  is  living 
in  the  precincts  of  Holyrood;  one  of  her  daughters  is 
happily  married  to  a  minister;  and  the  other  to  an  apothe- 
cary who  was  called  in  to  attend  her  in  quinsy.  So  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  ])lirase  about  "  select "  boarding- 
houses  is  a  mere  complimentary  term;  and  as  for  the 
strictest  references  being  given  and  required,  I  certainly 
should  not  lay  out  extra  money  for  printing  that  expression 


404  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

in  my  advertisement,  were  I  going  to  set  up  an  establish- 
ment myself. 

Old  college  friends  of  Philip's  visited  Paris  from  time  to 
time;  and  rejoiced  in  carrying  him  off  to  "Borel's"  or  the 
"  Trois  Freres,"  and  hospitably  treating  him  who  had  been 
so  hospitable  in  his  time.  Yes,  thanks  be  to  heaven,  there 
are  good  Samaritans  in  pretty  large  numbers  in  this  world, 
and  hands  ready  enough  to  succor  a  man  in  misfortune.  I 
could  name  two  or  three  gentlemen  who  drive  about  in 
chariots  and  look  at  people's  tongues  and  write  queer 
hgures  and  queer  Latin  on  note-paper,  who  occultly  made  a 
purse  containing  some  seven  or  ten  score  fees,  and  sent 
them  out  to  Dr.  Firniin  in  his  banishment.  The  poor 
wretch  had  behaved  as  ill  as  might  be,  but  he  was  without 
a  penny  or  a  friend.  I  dare  say  Dr.  Goodenough,  amongst 
other  philanthropists,  put  his  hands  into  his  pocket.  Hav- 
ing heartily  disliked  and  mistrusted  Firmin  in  prosperity, 
in  adversity  he  melted  towards  the  poor  fugitive  wretch : 
he  even  could  believe  that  Firmin  had  some  skill  in  his 
profession,  and  in  his  practice  was  not  quite  a  quack. 

Philip's  old  college  and  school  cronies  laughed  at  hearing 
that,  now  his  ruin  was  comjjlete,  he  was  thinking  about 
marriage.  Such  a  plan  was  of  a  piece  with  Mr.  Firmin's 
known  prudence  and  foresight.  But  they  made  an  objec- 
tion to  his  proposed  union,  which  had  struck  us  at  home 
previously.  Papa-in-law  was  well  enough,  or  at  least 
inoffensive  :  but  ah,  ye  powers !  what  a  mother-in-law  was 
poor  Phil  laying  up  for  his  future  days  !  Two  or  three  of 
our  mutual  companions  made  this  remark  on  returning  to 
work  and  chambers  after  their  autumn  holiday.  We  never 
had  too  much  charity  for  Mrs.  Baynes ;  and  what  Philip 
told  us  about  her  did  not  serve  to  increase  our  regard. 

About  Christmas  Mr.  Firmin's  own  affairs  brought  him 
on  a  brief  visit  to  London.  We  were  not  jealous  that  he 
took  up  his  quarters  with  his  little  friend,  of  Thornhaugh 
Street,  who  was  contented  that  he  should  dine  with  us, 
provided  she  could  have  the  pleasure  of  housing  him  under 
her  kind  shelter.  High  and  mighty  people  as  we  were  — 
for  under  what  humble  roofs  does  not  Vanity  hold  her 
sway? — we,  who  knew  Mrs.  Brandon's  virtues,  and  were 
aware  of  her  early  story,  would  have  condescended  to 
receive  her  into  our  society  ;  but  it  was  the  little  lady  her- 
self who  had  her  pride,  and  held  aloof.  "My  parents  did 
not  give  me  the  education  you  have  had,  ma'am,"  Caroline 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        405 

said  to  my  wife.  "  My  place  is  not  here,  I  know  very  well ; 
unless  you  should  be  took  ill,  and  tke?i,  ma'am,  you'll  see 
that  I  will  be  glad  enough  to  come.  Philip  can  come  and 
see  7ne ;  and  a  blessing  it  is  to  me  to  set  eyes  on  him. 
But  I  shouldn't  be  happy  in  your  drawing-room,  nor  you  in 
having  me.  The  dear  children  look  surprised  at  my  way 
of  talking ;  and  no  wonder :  and  they  laugh  sometimes  to 
one  another,  God  bless  'em !  I  don't  mind.  My  education 
was  not  cared  for.  I  scarce  had  any  schooling  but  what  I 
taught  myself.  My  pa  hadn't  the  means  of  learning  me 
much :  and  it  is  too  late  to  go  to  school  at  forty  odd.  I've 
got  all  his  stockings  and  things  darned ;  and  his  linen, 
poor  fellow!  —  beautiful:  I  wish  they  kep'  it  as  nice  in 
France,  where  he  is  !  You'll  give  my  love  to  the  young 
lady,  won't  }■  ou,  ma'am  ?  and  oh !  it's  a  blessing  to  me  to 
hear  how  good  and  gentle  she  is !  He  has  a  high  temper, 
Philip  have  :  but  them  he  likes  can  easy  manage  him.  You 
have  been  his  best  kind  friends ;  and  so  will  she  be,  I 
trust ;  and  they  may  be  happy  though  they're  poor.  But 
they've  time  to  get  rich,  haven't  they  ?  And  it's  not  the 
richest  that's  the  happiest,  that  I  can  see  in  many  a  fine 
house  where  Xurse  Brandon  goes  and  has  her  eyes  open, 
though  she  don't  say  much,  you  know."  In  this  way 
Nurse  Brandon  would  prattle  on  to  us  when  she  came  to 
see  us.  She  would  share  our  meal,  always  thanking  by 
name  the  servant  who  helped  her.  She  insisted  on  calling 
our  children  "Miss"  an  1  "Master,"  and  I  think  those 
young  satirists  did  not  laugh  often  or  unkindly  at  her 
peculiarities.  I  know  they  were  told  that  Xurse  Brandon 
was  very  good ;  and  that  she  took  care  of  her  father  in  his 
old  age ;  and  that  she  had  passed  through  very  great  griefs 
and  trials ;  and  that  she  had  nursed  Uncle  Philip  when  he 
had  been  very  ill  indeed,  and  when  many  people  would 
have  been  afraid  to  come  near  him ;  and  that  her  life  was 
spent  in  tending  the  sick,  and  in  doing  good  to  her 
neighbor. 

One  da}^  during  Philip's  stay  with  us  we  happen  to  read 
in  the  paper  Lord  Ringwood's  arrival  in  London.  My  lord 
had  a  grand  town-house  of  his  own  which  he  did  not 
always  inhabit.  He  liked  the  cheerfulness  of  a  hotel 
better.  Ring  wood  House  was  too  large  and  too  dismal. 
He  did  not  care  to  eat  a  solitary  mutton-chop  in  a  great 
dining-room  surrounded  by  ghostly  images  of  dead  King- 
woods  —  his  dead  son,  a  boy  who  had  died  in  his  boyhood  j 


406  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

his  dead  brother  attired  in  the  uniform  of  his  day  (in 
which  picture  there  was  no  little  resemblance  to  Philip 
Firmin,  the  Colonel's  grandson)  ;  Lord  Eingwood's  dead 
self,  hnally,  as  he  appeared  still  a  young  man  when 
Lawrence  painted  him,  and  when  lie  was  the  companion  of 
the  Regent  and  his  friends.  "Ah!  that's  the  fellow  I 
least  like  to  look  at,"  the  old  man  would  say,  scowling  at 
the  picture,  and  breaking  out  into  the  old-fashioned  oaths 
which  garnished  many  conversations  in  his  young  days. 
"  That  fellow  could  ride  all  day ;  and  sleep  all  night,  or  go 
without  sleep  as  he  chose ;  and  drink  his  four  bottles,  and 
never  have  a  headache ;  and  break  his  collar-bone,  and 
see  the  fox  killed  three  hours  after.  That  was  once  a  man, 
as  old  Marlborough  said,  looking  at  his  own  picture.  Now 
my  doctor's  my  master ;  my  doctor  and  the  infernal  gout 
over  him.  I  live  upon  pap  and  puddens,  like  a  baby  ;  only 
I've  shed  all  my  teeth,  hang  'em.  If  I  drink  three  glasses 
of  sherry,  my  butler  threatens  me.  You  young  fellow, 
who  haven't  twopence  in  your  pocket,  by  George,  I  would 
like  to  change  with  you.  Only  you  wouldn't,  hang  you, 
you  wouldn't.  Why,  I  don't  believe  Todhunter  would 
change  with  me:  would  you,  Todhunter?  —  and  you're 
about  as  fond  of  a  great  man  as  any  fellow  I  ever  knew. 
Don't  tell  me.  You  are,  sir.  Why,  when  I  walked  with 
you  on  Ryde  Sands  one  day,  I  said  to  that  fellow,  '  Tod- 
hunter, don't  you  think  I  could  order  the  sea  to  stand 
still  ?  '  I  did.  And  you  had  never  heard  of  King  Canute, 
hanged  if  you  had,  and  never  read  any  book  except  the 
Stud-book  and  Mrs.  Glasse's  Cookery,  hanged  if  vou  did." 
Such  remarks  and  conversations  of  his  relative  has  Philip 
reported  to  me.  Two  or  three  men  about  town  had  very 
good  imitations  of  this  toothless,  growling,  blasphemous  old 
cynic.  He  was  splendid  a*nd  penurious  ;  violent  and  easily 
led ;  surrounded  by  flatterers  and  utterly  lonely.  He  had 
old-world  notions,  which  I  believe  have  passed  out  of  the 
manners  of  great  folks  now.  He  thought  it  beneath  him 
to  travel  by  railway,  and  his  post-chaise  was  one  of  the  last 
on  the  road.  The  tide  rolled  on  in  spite  of  this  old 
Canute,  and  has  long  since  rolled  over  him  and  his  post- 
chaise.  Why,  almost  all  his  imitators  are  actually  dead ; 
and  only  this  year,  when  old  Jack  Mummers  gave  an  imita- 
tion of  him  at  "  Ba3^s's  "  (where  Jack's  mimicry  used  to  be 
received  with  shouts  of  laughter  but  a  few  years  since), 
there  was  a  dismal  silence  in  the  coffee-room,  except  from 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        407 

two  or  three  young  men  at  a  near  table,  who  said,  "  What 
is  the  okl  fool  nuinibling  and  swearing  at  now  ?  An  imita- 
tion of  Lord  Kingwood,  and  who  was  he  ?  "  So  our  names 
pass  away,  and  are  forgotten :  and  the  tallest  statues,  do 
not  the  sands  of  time  accumulate  and  overwhelm  them  ?  1 
have  not  forgotten  my  lord  ;  any  more  than  I  have  forgotten 
the  cock  of  my  school,  about  whom,  perhaps,  you  don't 
care  to  hear.  I  see  my  lord's  bald  head,  and  hooked  beak, 
and  bushy  eyebrows,  and  tall  velvet  collar,  and  brass 
buttons,  and  great  black  mouth,  and  trembling  hand,  and 
trembling  parasites  around  him,  and  I  can  hear  his  voice, 
and  great  oaths,  and  laughter.  You  parasites  of  to-day  are 
bowing  to  other  great  people ;  and  this  great  one,  who 
was  alive  only  yesterday,  is  as  dead  as  George  tV.  or 
Kebuchadnezzar. 

Well,  we  happen  to  read  that  Philip's  noble  relative  Lord 
Kingwood  has  arrived  at Hotel,  whilst  Philip  is  stay- 
ing with  us ;  and  I  own  that  I  counsel  my  friend  to  go  and 
wait  upon  his  lordship.  He  had  been  very  kind  at  Paris : 
he  had  evidentl}^  taken  a  liking  to  Philip.  Firmin  ought 
to  go  and  see  him.  Who  knows  ?  Lord  Eingwood  might 
be  inclined  to  do  something  for  his  brother's  grandson. 

This  was  just  the  point  which  any  one  who  knew  Philip 
should  have  hesitated  to  urge  upon  him.  To  try  and  make 
him  bow  and  smile  on  a  great  man  with  a  view  of  future 
favors,  was  to  demand  the  impossible  from  Firmin.  The 
king's  men  may  lead  the  king's  horses  to  the  water,  but  the 
king  himself  can't  make  them  drink.  I  own  that  I  came 
back  to  the  subject,  and  urged  it  repeatedly  on  my  friend. 
"  I  have  been,"  said  Philip,  sulkily.  "  I  have  left  a  card 
upon  him.  If  he  wants  me,  he  can  send  to  No.  120,  Queen 
Square,  Westminster,  my  present  hotel.  But  if  you  think 
he  will  give  me  anything  beyond  a  dinner,  I  tell  you  you 
are  mistaken." 

We  dined  that  day  with  Philip's  employer,  worthy  Mr. 
]\rugford,  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  Avho  was  profuse  in  his 
hospitalities,  and  especially  gracious  to  Philip.  Mugford 
was  pleased  with  Fii-min's  letters  ;  and  you  may  be  sure  that 
severer  critics  did  not  contradict  their  friend's  good-natured 
patron.  We  drove  to  the  suburban  villa  at  Hampstead,  and 
steaming  odors  of  soup,  mutton,  onions,  rushed  out  into  the 
hall  to  give  us  welcome,  and  to  warn  us  of  the  good  cheer 
in  store  for  the  party.  This  was  not  one  of  Mugford's  days 
for  countermanding  side-dishes,   I   promise  you.     Men  in 


408  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

black  with  noble  white  cotton  gloves  were  in  waiting  to  re- 
ceive us;  and  Mrs.  Mugford,  in  a  rich  blue  satin  and 
feathers,  a  profusion  of  flounces,  laces,  marabouts,  jewels, 
and  eau-de-Cologne,  rose  to  welcome  us  from  a  stately  sofa, 
where  she  sat  surrounded  by  her  children.  These,  too,  were 
in  brilliant  dresses,  with  shining  new-combed  hair.  The 
ladies,  of  course,  instantly  began  to  talk  about  their  children, 
and  my  wife's  unfeigned  admiration  for  Mrs.  Mugford's 
last  baby  I  think  won  that  worthy  lady's  good-will  at  once. 
I  made  some  remark  regarding  one  of  the  boys  as  being  the 
picture  of  his  father,  which  was  not  lucky.  I  don't  know 
why,  but  I  have  it  from  her  husband's  own  admission,  that 
Mrs.  Mugford  always  thinks  I  am  "  chaffing  her."  One  of 
the  boys  frankly  informed  me  there  was  goose  for  dinner ; 
and  when  a  cheerful  cloop  was  heard  from  a  neighboring 
room,  told  me  that  was  pa  drawing  the  corks.  Why  should 
Mrs.  Mugford  reprove  the  outspoken  child  and  say,  "James, 
hold  your  tongue,  do  now  "  ?  Better  wine  than  was  poured 
forth,  when  those  corks  were  drawn,  never  flowed  from 
bottle,  —  I  say,  I  never  saw  better  wine  nor  more  bottles. 
If  ever  a  table  may  be  said  to  have  groaned,  that  expression 
might  with  justic3  be  applied  to  Mugford's  mahogany. 
Talbot  Twysden  would  have  feasted  forty  people  with  the 
meal  here  provided  for  eight  by  our  most  hospitable  enter- 
tainer. Though  Mugford's  editor  was  present,  who  thinks 
himself  a  very  fine  fellow,  I  assure  you,  but  whose  name  I 
am  not  at  liberty  to  divulge,  all  the  honors  of  the  entertain- 
ment were  for  the  Paris  Corresj)ondent,  who  was  specially 
requested  to  take  Mrs.  M.  to  dinner.  As  an  earl's  grand- 
nephew,  and  a  lord's  great-grandson,  of  course  we  felt  that 
this  place  of  honor  was  Firmin's  right.  How  Mrs.  Mugford 
pressed  him  to  eat !  She  carved  —  I  am  very  glad  she 
would  not  let  Philip  carve  for  her,  for  he  might  have  sent 
the  goose  into  her  lap  —  she  carved,  I  say,  and  I  really 
think  she  gave  him  more  stuffing  than  to  any  of  us,  but  that 
may  have  been  mere  envy  on  my  part.  Allusions  to  Lord 
Ringwood  were  repeatedly  made  during  dinner.  ''  Lord  R. 
has  come  to  town,  Mr.  F.,  I  perceive,"  says  Mugford,  wink- 
ing. "You've  been  to  see  him,  of  course?"  Mr.  Firmin 
glared  at  me  very  fiercely :  he  had  to  own  he  had  been  to 
call  on  Lord  Ringwood.  Mugford  led  the  conversation  to 
the  noble  lord  so  frequently  that  Philip  madly  kicked  my 
shins  under  the  table.  I  don't  know  how  many  times  I  had 
to  suffer  from  that  foot  which  in  its  time  has  trampled  on 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        409 

so  many  persons :  a  kick  for  each  time  Lord  Kingwood's 
name,  houses,  parks,  properties,  were  mentioned  was  a 
frightful  allowance.  Mrs.  Mugford  would  say,  "]\lay  I 
assist  you  to  a  little  pheasant,  Mr.  Firmin  ?  I  dare  say 
they  are  not  as  good  as  Lord  Ringwood's "  (a  kick  from 
Philip)  ;  or  ^[ugtord  would  exclaim,  ''  Mr.  F.,  try  that  'ock  ! 
Lord  Kingwood  hasn't  better  wine  than  that."  (Dreadful 
punishment  upon  my  tibia  under  the  table.)  "  John  !  Two 
'ocks.  me  and  ^Ir.  Firmin.  Join  us,  Mr.  P.,"  and  so  forth. 
And  after  dinner,  to  the  ladies  —  as  my  wife,  who  betrayed 
their  mysteries,  informed  me  — Mrs.  ^Mugford's  conversation 
was  incessant  regarding  the  Eingwood  family  and  Firmin's 
relationship  to  that  noble  house.  The  meeting  of  the  old 
lord  and  Firmin  in  Paris  was  discussed  with  immense 
interest.  ''  His  lordship  called  him  Philip  most  affable  !  he 
was  very  fond  of  Mr.  Firmin."  A  little  bird  had  told  Mrs. 
Mugford  that  somebody  else  was  very  fond  of  Mr.  Firmin. 
She  hoped  it  would  be  a  match,  and  that  his  lordship  would 
do  the  handsome  thing  by  his  nephew.  What  ?  My  wife 
wondered  that  Mrs.  Mugford  should  know  about  Philip's 
affairs  (and  wonder  indeed  she  did)  ?  A  little  bird  had 
told  Mrs.  ^L  —  a  friend  of  both  ladies,  that  dear,  good  little 
nurse  Brandon,  who  was  engaged  —  and  here  the  conversa- 
tion went  ■  off  into  mysteries  which  I  certainly  shall  not 
reveal.  Suffice  it  that  Mrs.  ^lugford  was  one  of  Mrs. 
Brandon's  best,  kindest,  and  most  constant  patrons  —  or 
might  I  be  permitted  to  say  matrons  ?  —  and  had  received 
a  most  favorable  report  of  us  from  the  little  nurse.  And 
here  Mrs.  Pendennis  gave  a  verbatim  report  not  only  of  our 
hostess's  speech,  but  of  her  manner  and  accent.  ''Yes, 
ma'am,"  says  Mrs.  Mugford  to  ^Irs.  Pendennis,  "our  friend 
Mrs.  B.  has  told  me  of  a  certain  rjentleman  whose  name 
shall  be  nameless.  His  manner  is  cold,  not  to  say  'aughty. 
He  seems  to  be  laus^hing  at  people  sometimes — don't  say 
Xo  ;  I  saw  him  once  or  twice  at  dinner,  both  him  and  ]\[r. 
Firmin.  But  he  is  a  true  friend,  Mrs.  Brandon  spys  he  is. 
And  when  you  know  him,  his  heart  is  good."  Is  it  ? 
Amen.  A  distinguished  writer  has  composed,  in  not  very 
late  days,  a  comedy  of  which  the  cheerful  moral  is,  that  we 
are  "not  so  bad  as  we  seem."  Aren't  we?  Amen,  again. 
Give  us  thy  hearty  hand,  lago  I  Tartuffe,  how  the  world 
has  been  mistaken  in  you  I  ^lacbeth  !  put  that  little  affair 
of  the  murder  out  of  your  mind.  It  was  a  momentary 
weakness;  and  who  is  not  weak  at  times?     Bliiil,  a  more 


410  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

maligned  man  than  you  does  not  exist !  0  humanity !  how 
we  have  been  mistaken  in  you  !  Let  us  expunge  the  vulgar 
expression  "  miserable  sinners  '^  out  of  all  prayer-books ; 
open  the  portholes  of  all  hulks ;  break  the  chains  of  all 
convicts  ;  and  unlock  the  boxes  of  all  spoons. 

As  we  discussed  Mr.  Mugford's  entertainment  on  our 
return  home,  I  improved  the  occasion  with  Philip;  I 
pointed  out  the  reasonableness  of  the  hopes  which  he  might 
entertain  of  help  from  his  wealthy  kinsman,  and  actually 
forced  him  to  promise  to  wait  upon  my  lord  the  next  day. 
Now  when  Philip  Firmin  did  a  thing  against  his  will,  he 
did  it  with  a  bad  grace.  When  he  is  not  pleased,  he  does 
not  pretend  to  be  happy  ;  and  when  he  is  sulk}^,  Mr.  Firmin 
is  a  very  disagreeable  companion.  Though  he  never  once 
reproached  me  afterwards  with  what  happened,  I  own  that 
I  have  had  cruel  twinges  of  conscience  since.  If  I  had  not 
sent  him  on  that  dutiful  visit  to  his  grand-uncle,  what 
occurred  might  never,  perhaps,  have  occurred  at  all.  I 
acted  for  the  best,  and  that  I  aver;  however  I  may  grieve 
for  the  consequences  which  ensued  when  the  poor  fellow 
followed  ni}'  advice. 

If  Philip  held  aloof  from  Lord  Kingwood  in  London,  you 
may  be  sure  Philip's  dear  cousins  were  in  waiting  on  his 
lordship,  and  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  showing  their 
respectful  sympathy.  Was  Lord  Eingwood  ailing  ?  Mr. 
Twysden,  or  Mrs.  Twysden,  or  the  dear  girls,  or  Eingwood 
their  brother,  were  daily  in  his  lordship's  antechamber,  ask- 
ing for  news  of  his  health.  They  bent  down  respectfully 
before  Lord  Eingwood's  major-domo.  They  would  have 
given  him  money,  as  they  always  averred,  only  what  sum 
could  they  give  to  such  a  man  as  Eudge  ?  Thej  actually 
offered  to  bribe  Mr.  Eudge  with  their  wine,  over  which  he 
made  horrible  faces.  They  fawned  and  smiled  before  him 
always.  I  should  like  to  have  seen  that  calm  Mrs.  Twys- 
den, that  serene,  high-bred  woman,  who  would  cut  her 
dearest  friend  if  misfortune  befell  her,  or  the  world  turned 
its  back;  —  I  should  like  to  have  seen,  and  can  see  her  in 
my  mind's  eye,  simpering,  and  coaxing,  and  wheedling  this 
footman.  She  made  cheap  presents  to  Mr.  Eudge:  she 
smiled  on  him  and  asked  after  his  health.  And  of  course 
Talbot  Twysden  flattered  him  too  in  Talbot's  jolly  way.  It 
was  a  wink,  and  nod,  and  a  hearty  "  How  do  you  do  ?  "  — 
and  (after  due  inquiries  made  and  answered  about  his  lord- 
ship) it  would  be  '^  Eudge  !  I  think  my  housekeeper  has  a 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        411 

good  glass  of  port  wine  in  her  room,  if  you  happen  to  be 
passing  that  way,  and  my  lord  don't  want  you  ! "  And  with 
a  grave  courtesy,  I  can  fancy  Mr.  Kudge  bowing  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Twysden,  and  thanking  them,  and  descending  to  Mrs. 
Blenkinsop's  skinny  room  where  the  port  wine  is  ready  — 
and  if  Mr.  Rudge  and  Mrs.  Blenkinsop  are  confidential,  I 
can  fancy  their  talking  over  the  characters  and  peculiarities 
of  the  folks  upstairs.  Servants  sometimes  actually  do  ;  and 
if  master  and  mistress  are  humbugs,  these  wretched  menials 
sometimes  find  them  out. 

Now  no  duke  could  be  more  lordly  and  condescending  in 
his  bearing  than  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  towards  the  menial 
throng.  In  those  days,  when  he  had  money  in  his  pockets, 
he  gave  Mr.  Rudge  out  of  his  plenty ;  and  the  man 
remembered  his  generosity  when  he  was  poor ;  and  declared 
—  in  a  select  societ}',  and  in  the  company  of  the  relative  of 
a  person  from  whom  I  have  the  information  —  declared  in 
tlie  presence  of  Captain  Grann  at  the  "Admiral  B — ng 
Club  "  in  fact,  that  Mr.  Heff  was  always  a  swell ;  but  since 
he  was  done,  he,  Rudge,  '-  was  blest  if  that  young  chap 
warn't  a  greater  swell  than  hever."  And  Rudge  actually 
liked  this  poor  young  fellow  better  than  the  family  in  Beau- 
nash  Street,  whom  Mr.  R.  pronounced  to  be  "  a  shabby  lot." 
And  in  fact  it  was  Rudge  as  well  as  myself,  who  advised 
that  Philip  should  see  his  lordship. 

When  at  length  Philip  paid  his  second  visit,  Mr.  Rudge 
said,  "  My  lord  will  see  you,  sir,  I  think.  He  has  been 
speaking  of  you.  He's  very  unwell.  He's  going  to  have  a 
fit  of  the  gout,  I  think.  I'll  tell  him  you  are  here."  And 
coming  back  to  Philip,  after  a  brief  disappearance,  and  with 
rather  a  scared  face,  he  repeated  the  permission  to  enter, 
and  again  cautioned  him,  saying,  that  "my  lord  was  very 
queer." 

In  fact,  as  we  learned  afterwards,  through  the  channel 
previously  indicated,  my  lord,  when  he  heard  Philip  had 
called,  cried,  "He  has,  has  he?  Hang  him,  send  him  in;" 
using,  I  am  constrained  to  say,  in  place  of  the  monosyllable 
"hang,"  a  much  stronger  expression. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it  ?  "  says  my  lord.  "  You  have  been  in 
London  ever  so  long.  Twysden  told  me  of  vou  yester- 
day." 

"  I  have  called  before,  sir,"  said  Philip,  very  quietly. 

"  I  wonder  you  have  the  face  to  call  at  all,  sir  ! "  cries 
the  old  man,  glaring  at  Philip.     His  lordship's  countenance 


412 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 


was  of  a  gamboge  color  :  his  noble  eyes  were  bloodshot  and 
starting,-  his  voice,  always  very  harsh  and  strident,  was 
now  specially  unpleasant ;  and  from  the  crater  of  his 
mouth  shot  loud  exploding  oaths. 

"  Face,  my  lord  ?  "  says  Philip,  still  very  meek. 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        413 

"  Yes,  if  you  call  that  a  face  which  is  covered  over  with 
hair  like  a  baboon  ! ' '  growled  my  lord,  showing  his  tusks. 
''Twysdenwas  here  last  night,  and  tells  me  some  pretty 
news  about  yoi^" 

Philip  blushed;  he  knew  what  the  news  most  likely 
would  be. 

"  Twysden  says  that  now  you  are  a  pauper,  by  George, 
and  living  by  breaking  stones  in  the  street, — you  have 
been  such  an  infernal,  drivelling,  hanged  fool,  as  to  engage 
yourself  to  another  pauper  I  " 

Poor  Philip  turned  white  from  red ;  and  spoke  slowly : 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  my  lord,  3'ou  said  —  " 

"  I  said  you  were  a  hanged  fool,  sir  I  "  roared  the  old  man  ; 
"can't  you  hear  ?" 

"  I  believe  I  am  a  member  of  your  family,  my  lord,"  says 
Philip,  rising  up.  In  a  quarrel  he  would  sometimes  lose 
his  temper,  and  speak  out  his  mind;  or  sometimes,  and 
then  he  was  most  dangerous,  he  would  be  especially  calm 
and  Grandisonian. 

"Some  hanged  adventurer,  thinking  you  were  to  get 
money  from  me,  has  hooked  you  for  his  daughter,  has 
he  ?  " 

"  I  have  engaged  myself  to  a  young  lady,  and  I  am  the 
poorer  of  the  two,"  says  Philip. 

"  She  thinks  you  will  get  money  from  me,"  continues  his 
lordship. 

"  Does  she  ?     T  never  did  !  "  replied  Philip. 

"  By  heaven,  you  shan't,  unless  you  give  up  this  rubbish." 

"  I  shan't  give  her  up,  sir,  and  I  shall  do  without  the 
money,"  said  Mr.  Firmin,  very  boldly. 

"  Go  to  Tartarus  ! "  screamed  the  old  man. 

On  which  Philip  told  us,  "  I  said,  '  Seniores  priores,  my 
lord,'  and  turned  on  my  heel.  So  you  see  if  he  was  going 
to  leave  me  something,  and  he  nearly  said  he  was,  that 
chance  is  past  now,  and  I  have  made  a  pretty  morning's 
work."  And  a  pretty  morning's  work  it  was  :  and  it  was  I 
who  had  set  him  upon  it !  ^ly  brave  Philip  not  only  did 
not  rebuke  me  for  having  sent  him  on  this  errand,  but  took 
the  blame  of  the  business  on  himself.  "  Since  I  have  been 
engaged,"  he  said,  "I  am  growing  dreadfully  avaricious, 
and  am  almost  as  sordid  about  money  as  those  Twysdens. 
I  cringed  to  that  old  man  :  I  crawled  before  his  gouty 
feet.  Well,  I  could  crawl  from  here  to  Saint  James's 
Palace  to  get  some  money  for  my  little  Charlotte."     Philip 


414  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

cringe  and  crawl !  If  there  were  no  posture-masters  more 
supple  than  Philip  Firmin,  kotowing  would  be  a  lost  art, 
like  the  Menuet  de  la  Cour.  But  fear  not,  ye  great !  Men's 
backs  were  made  to  bend,  and  the  race  of  parasites  is  still 
in  good  repute. 

When  our  friend  told  us  how  his  brief  interview  with 
Lord  Ringwood  had  begun  and  ended,  I  think  those  who 
counselled  Philip  to  wait  upon  his  grand-uncle  felt  rather 
ashamed  of  their  worldly  wisdom  and  the  advice  which 
they  had  given.  We  ought  to  have  known  our  Huron 
sufficiently  to  be  aware  that  it  was  a  dangerous  experiment 
to  set  him  bowing  in  lords'  ante-chambers.  Were  not  his 
elbows  sure  to  break  some  courtly  china,  his  feet  to  tram- 
ple and  tear  some  lace  train  ?  So  all  the  good  we  had  done 
was  to  occasion  a  quarrel  between  him  and  his  patron. 
Lord  Ringwood  avowed  that  he  had  intended  to  leave 
Philip  money ;  and  by  thrusting  the  poor  fellow  into  the 
old  nobleman's  sick-chamber,  we  had  occasioned  a  quarrel 
between  the  relatives,  who  parted  with  mutual  threats 
and  anger.  "  Oh,  dear  me  ! "  I  groaned  in  connubial  col- 
loquies. "Let  us  get  him  away.  He  will  be  boxing 
Mugford's  ears  next,  and  telling  Mrs.  Mugford  that  she  is 
vulgar,  and  a  bore."  He  was  eager  to  get  back  to  his  work, 
or  rather  to  his  lady-love  at  Paris.  We  did  not  try  to 
detain  him.  For  fear  of  further  accidents  we  were  rather 
anxious  that  he  should  be  gone.  Crestfallen  and  sad,  I 
accompanied  him  to  the  Boulogne  boat.  He  paid  for  his 
place  in  the  second  cabin,  and  stoutl}''  bade  us  adieu.  A 
rough  night :  a  wet,  slippery  deck :  a  crowd  of  frowzy  fel- 
low-passengers :  and  poor  Philip  in  the  midst  of  them  in  a 
thin  cloak,  his  yellow  hair  and  beard  blowing  about:  I 
see  the  steamer  now,  and  left  her  with  I  know  not  what 
feelings  of  contrition  and  shame.  AVhy  had  I  sent  Philip 
to  call  upon  that  savage,  overbearing  old  patron  of  his  ? 
Why  compelled  him  to  that  bootless  act  of  submission  ? 
Lord  Eingwood's  brutalities  were  matters  of  common 
notoriety.  A  wicked,  dissolute,  cynical  old  man :  and  we 
must  try  to  make  friends  with  thi3  mammon  of  unright- 
eousness, and  set  poor  Philip  to  bow  before  him  and  flatter 
him!  Ah,  mea  culpa,  7}iea  culpa!  The  wind  blev/  hard 
that  winter  night,  and  many  tiles  and  chimney-pots  blew 
down :  and  as  I  thought  of  poor  Philip  tossing  in  the 
frowzy  second  cabin,  I  rolled  about  my  own  bed  very 
uneasily. 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        415 

I  looked  into  ''Bays's  Club"  the  day  after,  and  there  fell 
on  both  the  Twysdens.  The  parasite  of  a  father  was  cling- 
ing to  the  button  of  a  great  man  when  I  entered  :  the  little 
reptile  of  a  son  came  to  the  club  in  Captain  Woolcomb's 
brougham,  and  in  that  distinguished  mulatto  officer's  com- 
pany. They  looked  at  me  in  a  peculiar  way.  I  was  sure 
they  did.  Talbot  Twysden,  pouring  his  loud,  braggart 
talk  in  the  ear  of  poor  Lord  Lepel,  eyed  me  with  a  glance 
of  triumph,  and  talked  and  swaggered  so  that  I  should 
hear.  Eingwood  Twysden  and  Woolcomb,  drinking  ab- 
sinthe to  whet  their  noble  appetites,  exchanged  glances 
and  grins.  Woolcomb's  eyes  were  of  the  color  of  the 
absinthe  he  swallowed.  I  did  not  see  that  Twysden  tore 
off  one  of  Lord  LepeFs  buttons,  but  that  nobleman,  with  a 
scared  countenance,  moved  away  rapidly  from  his  little 
persecutor.  "  Hang  him,  throw  him  over,  and  come  to 
me ! "  T  heard  the  generous  Twysden  say.  "  I  expect 
Kingwood  and  one  or  two  more."  At  this  proposition, 
JiOrd  Lepel,  in  a  tremulous  way,  muttered  that  he  could 
not  break  his  engagement,  and  fled  out  of  the  club. 

Twysden's  dinners,  the  polite  reader  has  been  previously 
informed,  were  notorious ;  and  he  constantly  bragged  of 
having  the  company  of  Lord  Ringwood.  Now  it  so  hap- 
])ened  that  on  this  very  evening,  Lord  Ringwood,  wdth 
three  of  his  followers,  henchmen,  or  led  captains,  dined  at 
Bays's  Club,  being  determined  to  see  a  pantomime  in  which 
a  very  pretty  young  Columbine  figured  :  and  some  one  in 
the  house  joked  with  his  lordship,  and  said,  "Why,  you  are 
going  to  dine  with  Talbot  Twysden.  He  said,  just  now, 
that  he  expected  vou." 

"  Did  he  ?  "  said  his  lordship.  "  Then  Talbot  Twysden 
told  a  hanged  lie  !  "  And  little  Tom  Eaves,  my  informant, 
remembered  these  remarkable  words,  because  of  a  circum- 
stance which  now  almost  immediatel}'  followed. 

A  very  few  daj^s  after  Philip's  departure,  our  friend,  the 
Little  Sister,  came  to  us  at  our  breakfast-table  w^earing  an 
expression  of  much  trouble  and  sadness  on  her  kind  little 
face  ;  the  causes  of  which  sorrow  she  explained  to  us,  as 
soon  as  our  chiklren  had  gone  away  to  their  school-room. 
Amongst  Mrs.  Brandon's  friends,  and  one  of  her  father's 
constant  companions,  Avas  the  worth}'  ]\Ir.  Ridley,  father  of 
the  celebrated  painter  of  that  name,  who  was  himself  of 
much  too  honorable  and  noble  a  nature  to  be  ashamed  of 
his  humble  paternal  origin.     Companionship  between  father 


416  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

and  son  could  not  be  very  close  or  intimate  ;  especially  as 
in  the  younger  Ridley's  boyhood,  his  father,  who  knew 
nothing  of  the  fine  arts,  had  looked  upon  the  child  as  a 
sickly,  half-witted  creature,  who  would  be  to  his  parents 
but  a  grief  and  a  burden.  But  when  J.  J.  Ridley,  Esq., 
began  to  attain  eminence  in  his  profession,  his  father's  eyes 
were  opened ;  in  place  of  neglect  and  contempt,  he  looked 
up  to  his  boy  with  a  sincere,  naive  admiration,  and  often, 
with  tears,  has  narrated  the  pride  and  pleasure  which  he 
felt  on  the  day  when  he  waited  on  John  James  at  his  mas- 
ter Lord  Todmorden's  table.  Ridley  senior  now  felt  that 
he  had  been  unkind  and  unjust  to  his  boy  in  the  latter 's 
early  days,  and  with  a  very  touching  humility  the  old  man 
acknowledged  his  j^revious  injustice,  and  tried  to  atone  for 
it  by  present  respect  and  affection. 

Though  fondness  for  his  son,  and  delight  in  the  company 
of  Captain  Gann,  often  drew  ]\[r.  Ridley  to  Thornhaugh 
Street,  and  to  the  "  Admiral  Byng  "  Club,  of  which  both 
were  leading  members,  Ridley  senior  belonged  to  other 
clubs  at  the  West  End,  where  Lord  Todmorden's  butler 
consorted  with  the  confidential  butlers  of  others  of  the 
nobility :  and  I  am  informed  that  in  those  clubs  Ridley 
continued  to  be  called  "  Todmorden  "  long  after  his  connec- 
tion with  that  venerable  nobleman  had  ceased.  He  contin- 
ued to  be  called  Lord  Todmorden,  in  fact,  just  as  Lord 
Popinjoy  is  still  called  by  his  old  friends  Popinjoy,  though 
his  father  is  dead,  and  Popinjoy,  as  everybody  knows,  is  at 
present  Earl  of  Pintado. 

At  one  of  these  clubs  of  their  order,  Lord  Todmorden's 
man  was  in  the  constant  habit  of  meeting  Lord  Ringwood's 
man,  when  their  lordships  (master  and  man)  were  in  town. 
These  gentlemen  had  a  regard  for  each  other ;  and,  when 
they  met,  communicated  to  each  other  their  views  of 
society,  and  their  opinions  of  the  characters  of  the  various 
noble  lords  and  influential  commoners  whom  they  served. 
;Mr.  Rudge  knew  everything  about  Philip  Eirmin's  affairs, 
about  the  Doctor's  flight,  about  Philip's  generous  behavior. 
"  Generous  !  /  call  it  admiral ! "  old  Ridley  remarked, 
while  narrating  this  trait  of  our  friend's  —  and  his  present 
position.  And  Rudge  contrasted  Philip's  manly  behavior 
with  the  conduct  of  some  sneaks  which  he  would  not  name 
them,  but  which  they  were  always  speaking  ill  of  the  poor 
young  fellow  behind  his  back,  and  sneaking  up  to  my  lord, 
and  greater  skinflints  and  meaner  humbugs  never  were: 


ox  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        417 

and  there   was  no   accounting  for  tastes,   but  lie,   Rudge, 
would  not  marry  his  daughter  to  a  black  man. 

Kow  that  da}^  when  Mr.  Firmin  went  to  see  my  Lord 
Ringwood  was  one  of  my  lord's  very  worst  days,  when  it 
was  almost  as  dangerous  to  go  near  him  as  to  approach  a 
Bengal  tiger.  '^  When  he  is  going  to  have  a  fit  of  gout,  his 
lordship  •'  (Mr.  Rudge  remarked)  "  is  hawful.  He  curse  and 
swear,  he  do,  at  everybody;  even  the  clergy  or  the  ladies 
—  all's  one.  On  that  very  day  when  Mr.  Firmin  called  he 
had  said  to  Mr,  Twysden,  '  Get  out,  and  don't  come  slan- 
dering, and  backbiting,  and  bullying  that  poor  devil  of  a 
boy  any  more.  It's  blackguardly,  by  George,  sir  —  it's 
blackguardly.'  And  Twysden  came  out  with  his  tail  be- 
tween his  legs,  and  he  says  to  me  — '  Rudge,'  says  he,  'my 
lord's  uncommon  bad  to-day.'  Well,  he  hadn't  been  gone 
an  hour  when  pore  Philip  comes,  bad  luck  to  him,  and  my 
lord,  who  had  just  heard  from  Twysden  all  about  that 
young  woman  —  that  party  at  Paris,  Mr.  Ridley  —  and  it 
is  about  as  great  a  piece  of  folly  as  ever  I  heard  tell  of  — 
my  lord  turns  upon  the  pore  young  fellar  and  call  him 
names  worse  than  Twysden.  But  Mr.  Firmin  ain't  that 
sort  of  man,  he  isn't.  He  won't  suffer  any  man  to  call  hirn 
names ;  and  I  suppose  he  gave  my  lord  his  own  back  again, 
for  I  heard  my  lord  swear  at  him  tremendous,  I  did,  with 
my  own  ears.  When  my  lord  has  the  gout  flying  about 
I  told  you  he  is  awful.  When  he  takes  his  colchicum 
he's  worse.  Xow,  we  have  got  a  party  at  Whipham  at 
Christmas,  and  at  Whipham  we  must  be.  And  he  took 
his  colchicum  night  before  last,  and  to-day  he  was  in  such 
a  tremendous  rage  of  swearing,  cursing,  and  blowing  up 
everybody,  that  it  was  as  if  he  was  red  hot.  And  when 
Twysden  and  Mrs.  Twysden  called  that  day  —  (if  you  kick 
that  fellar  out  at  the  hall  door,  I'm  blest  if  he  won't  come 
smirking  down  the  chimney)  —  he  wouldn't  see  any  of 
them.  And  he  bawled  out  after  me,  'If  Firmin  comes, 
kick  him  downstairs  —  do  you  hear  ?  '  with  ever  so  many 
oaths  and  curses  against  the  poor  fellow,  while  he  vowed 
he  would  never  see  his  hanged  impudent  face  again.  But 
this  wasn't  all,  Ridley.  He  sent  for  Bradgate,  his  lawyer, 
that  very  day.  He  had  back  his  will,  which  I  signed 
myself  as  one  of  the  witnesses — me  and  Wilcox,  the 
master  of  the  hotel  —  and  I  know  he  had  left  Firmin 
something  in  it.  Take  my  word  for  it.  To  that  poor 
young  fellow  he  means  mischief."     A  full  report  of  this 

VOL.    I.  —  27 


418  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

conversation  Mr.  Ridley  gave  to  his  little  friend  Mrs. 
Brandon,  knowing  the  interest  which  Mrs.  Brandon  took 
in  the  young  gentleman ;  and  with  these  unpleasant  news 
Mrs.  Brandon  came  off  to  advise  with  those  who  —  the 
good  nurse  was  pleased  to  say  —  were  Philip's  best  friends 
in  the  world.  We  wished  we  could  give  the  Little  Sister 
comfort ;  but  all  the  world  knew  what  a  man  Lord  Ring- 
wood  was  — how  arbitrary,  how  revengeful,  how  cruel! 

I  knew  Mr.  Bradgate  the  lawyer,  with  whom  I  had  busi- 
ness, and  called  upon  him,  more  anxious  to  speak  about 
Philip's  affairs  than  my  own.  I  suppose  I  was  too  eager 
in  coming  to  my  point,  for  Bradgate  saw  the  meaning  of 
my  questions,  and  declined  to  answer  them.  "My  client 
and  I  are  not  the  dearest  friends  in  the  world,"  Bradgate 
said,  "but  I  must  keep  his  counsel,  and  must  not  tell  you 
\vhether  ]\[r.  Firmin's  name  is  down  in  his  lordship's  will 
or  not.  How  should  I  know  ?  He  may  have  altered  his 
will.  He  may  have  left  Firmin  money  ;  he  may  have  left 
him  none.  I  hope  young  Firmin  does  not  count  on  a 
legacy.  That's  all.  He  may  be  disappointed  if  he  does. 
Why,  you  may  hope  for  a  legacy  from  Lord  Ringwood, 
and  you  may  be  disappointed.  I  know  scores  of  people 
who  do  hope  for  something,  and  who  won't  get  a  penny." 
And  this  was  all  the  reply  I  could  get  at  that  time  from 
the  oracular  little  lawyer. 

I  told  my  wife,  as  of  course  every  dutiful  man  tells 
everything  to  every  dutiful  wife:  —  but,  though  Bradgate 
discouraged  us,  there  was  somehow  a  lurking  hope  still 
that  the  old  nobleman  would  provide  for  our  friend.  Then 
Philip  would  marry  Charlotte.  Then  he  would  earn  ever 
so  much  more  money  by  his  newspaper.  Then  he  would 
be  happy  ever  after.  My  wife  counts  eggs  not  only  before 
they  are  hatched,  but  before  they  are  laid.  Never  was 
such  an  obstinate  hopefulness  of  character.  I,  on  the  other 
hand,  take  a  rational  and  despondent  view  of  things ;  and 
if  they  turn  out  better  than  I  expect,,  as  sometimes  they 
w411,  I  affably  own  that  I  have  been  mistaken. 

But  an  early  day  came  when  Mr.  Bradgate  was  no  longer 
needful,  or  when  he  thought  himself  released  from  the 
obligations  of  silence  with  regard  to  his  noble  client.  It 
was  two  days  before  Christmas,  and  I  took  my  accustomed 
afternoon  saunter  to  "Bays's,"  Avhere  other  habitues  of  the 
club  were  assembled.  There  was  no  little  buzzing  and 
the  frequenters   of   the    place.     Talbot 


ON  HIS    WAY  TIlllOUGH   THE    WORLD.        419 

Twysdeu  always  arrived  at  "Bays's"  at  ten  minutes  past 
four,  and  scuffled  for  the  evening  paper,  as  if  its  contents 
were  matter  of  great  importance  to  Talbot.  He  would 
hold  men's  buttons,  and  discourse  to  them  the  leading 
article  out  of  that  paper  with  an  astounding  emphasis  and 
gravity.  On  this  day,  some  ten  minutes  after  his  accus- 
tomed hour,  he  reached  the  club.  Other  gentlemen  were 
engaged  in  perusing  the  evening  journal.  The  lamps  on 
the  tarbles  lighted  up  the  bald  heads,  the  gray  heads,  dyed 
heads,  and  the  wigs  of  many  assembled  fogies  —  murmurs 
went  about  the  room:  ''Very  sudden."  "Gout  in  the 
stomach."  "Dined  here  only  four  days  ago."  "Looked 
very  well."  "  Very  Avell  ?  Xo  I  ISTever  saw  a  fellow  look 
worse  in  my  life."  "  Yellow  as  a  guinea."  "  Couldn't  eat." 
"'  K?wore  dreadfully  at  the  waiters,  and  at  Tom  Eaves,  who 
dined  with  him."  "Seventy-six,  I  see.  —  Born  in  the  same 
year  with  the  Duke  of  York."  "  Forty  thousand  a  year." 
"  Forty  ?  tiftj^-eight  thousand  three  hundred,  I  tell  you. 
Always  been  a  saving  man."  "  Estate  goes  to  his  cousin, 
Sir  John  Ringwood ;  not  a  member  here  —  member  of 
'  Boodle's.'  "  "  Hated  each  other  furiously.  Very  violent 
temper,  the  old  fellow  was.  Never  got  over  the  Reform 
Bill,  they  used  to  say."  "'  Wonder  whether  he'll  leave  any- 
thing to  old  bow-wow  Twys — "  Here  enters  Talbot 
T^^ysden,  Esq.  —  "Ha,  Colonel !  How  are  you  ?  What's 
the  news  to-night  ?  Kept  late  at  my  •  office,  making  up 
accounts.  Going  down  to  Whipham  to-morrow  to  pass 
Christmas  with  my  wife's  uncle  —  Ringwood,  you  know. 
Always  go  down  io  AVhipham  at  Christmas.  Keeps  the 
pheasants  for  us.  Xo  longer  a  hunting  man  myself.  Lost 
my  nerve,  by  George." 

Whilst  the  braggart  little  creature  indulged  in  this  pom- 
pous talk,  he  did  not  see  the  significant  looks  which  were 
fixed  upon  him,  or  if  he  remarked  them,  was  perhaps 
pleased  b}^  the  attention  which  he  excited.  "  Bays's  "  had 
long  echoed  with  Twysden's  account  of  Ringwood,  the 
pheasants,  his  own  loss  of  nerve  in  hunting,  and  the  sum 
which  their  family  would  inherit  at  the  death  of  their 
noble  relative. 

"I  think  I  have  heard  you  say  Sir  John  Ringwood 
inherits  after  your  relative  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Hookham. 

"Yes;  the  estate,  not  the  title.  The  earldom  goes  to 
my  lord  and  his  heirs  —  Hookham.  Why  shouldn't  he 
marry  again?     I  often  say  to  him,  'Ringwood,  why  don't 


420  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 

you  marry,  if  it's  only  to  disappoint  that  Whig  fellow,  Sir 
John  ?  You  are  fresh  and  hale,  Kingwood.  You  may 
live  twenty  years,  five-and-twenty  years.  If  you  leave  your 
niece  and  my  children  anything  we're  not  in  a  hurry  to 
inherit,'  I  say  ;  '  why  don't  you  marry  ?  '  " 

"  Ah !  Twysden,  he's  past  marrying,"  groans  Mr.  Hook- 
ham. 

"Not  at  all.  Sober  man,  now.  Stout  man.  Immense 
powerful  man.  Healthy  man  but  for  gout.  I  often  say  to 
him,  '  Ringwood  !     I  say  — ' " 

"  Oh,  for  mercy's  sake,  stop  this ! "  groans  old  Mr. 
Tremlett,  who  always  begins  to  shudder  at  the  sound  of 
poor  Twysden's  voice.     "  Tell  him,  somebody." 

"Haven't  you  heard,  Twysden?  Haven't  you  seen? 
Don't  you  know  ?  "  asks  Mr.  Hookham,  solemnly. 

"  Heard,  seen,  known  —  what  ?  "  cries  the  other. 

"An  accident  has  happened  to  Lord  Kingwood.  Look  at 
the  paper.  Here  it  is."  And  Twysden  pulls  out  his  great 
gold  eye-glasses,  holds  the  paper  as  far  as  his  little  arm  will 
reach,  and  —  and  merciful  Powers  !  —  but  I  will  not  ven- 
ture to  depict  the  agony  on  that  noble  face.  Like  Timan- 
thes  the  painter,  I  hide  this  Agamemnon  with  a  veil.  I 
cast  the  Globe  newspaper  over  him.  Illahatitr  orbis :  and 
let  imagination  depict  our  Twysden  under  the  ruins. 

What  Twysden  read  in  the  Globe  was  a  mere  curt  para- 
graph ;  but  in  next  morning's  Times  there  was  one  of  those 
obituary  notices  to  which  noblemen  of  eminence  must  sub- 
mit from  the  mysterious  necrographer  engaged  by  that 
paper. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


PULVIS    ET    UMBRA    SUMUS. 


HE  first  and  only  Earl  of 
Kingwood  has  submitted  to 
the  fate  which  peers  and  com- 
moners are  alike  destined  to 
undergo.  Hastening  to  his 
magiiiticent  seat  of  Whipham 
IMarket,  where  he  proposed 
to  entertain  an  illustrious 
Christmas  party,  his  lordship 
left  London  scarcely  recovered 
from  an  attack  of  gout  to 
which  he  has  been  for  many 
years  a  martyr.  The  disease 
must  have  flown  to  his  stom- 
ach, and  suddenly  mastered  him.  At  Turreys  Eegum, 
thirty  miles  from  his  own  princely  habitation,  where  he 
had  been  accustomed  to  dine  on  his  almost  royal  progresses 
to  his  home,  he  was  already  in  a  state  of  dreadful  suf- 
fering, to  which  his  attendants  did  not  pay  the  attention 
which  his  condition  ought  to  have  excited ;  for  when  labor- 
ing under  this  most  painful  malady  his  outcries  were  loud, 
and  his  language  and  demeanor  exceedingly  violent.  He 
angrily  refused  to  send  for  medical  aid  at  Turreys,  and 
insisted  on  continuing  his  journe}^  homewards.  He  was 
one  of  the  old  school,  who  never  would  enter  a  railway 
(though  his  fortune  was  greatly  increased  by  the  passage 
of  the  railway  through  his  property)  ;  and  his  own  horses 
always  met  him  at  '  Popper's  Tavern,'  an  obscure  hamlet, 
seventeen  miles  from  his  princely  seat.  He  made  no  sign 
on  arriving  at  '  Popper's,'  and  spoke  no  word,  to  the  now 
serious  alarm  of  his  servants.  When  they  came  to  light 
his  carriage-lamps,  and  look  into  his  post-<:;haise,  the  lord  of 
many  thousand  acres,  and,  according  to  report,  of  immense 
wealth,  was  dead.     The  journey  from  Turreys  had  been 

421 


422  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

the  last  stage  of  a  long,  a  prosperous,  and,  if  not  a  famous, 
at  least  a  notorious  and  magnificent  career. 

"  The  late  John  George,  Earl  and  Baron  Eingwood  and 
Viscount  Cinqbars,  entered  into  public  life  at  the  danger- 
ous period  before  the  French  lie  volution ;  and  commenced 
his  career  as  the  friend  and  companion  of  the  Prince  of 
Wales.  When  his  lioyal  Highness  seceded  from  the  Whig 
party,  Lord  liingwood  also  joined  the  Tory  side  of  pol- 
iticians, and  an  earldom  was  the  price  of  his  fidelity. 
But  on  the  elevation  of  Loid  Steyne  to  a  marquisate.  Lord 
Ringwood  quarrelled  for  a  while  with  his  royal  patron  and 
friend,  deeming  his  own  services  unjustly  slighted,  as  a 
like  dignity  was  not  conferred  on  himself.  On  several 
occasions  he  gave  his  vote  against  Government,  and  caused 
his  nominees  in  the  House  of  Commons  to  vote  Avith  the 
Whigs.  He  never  was  reconciled  to  his  late  Majesty 
George  IV.,  of  whom  he  was  in  the  habit  of  speaking  with 
characteristic  bluntness.  The  approach  of  the  Reform 
Bill,  however,  threw  this  nobleman  definitively  on  the  Tory 
side,  of  which  he  has  ever  since  remained,  if  not  an  elo- 
quent, at  least  a  violent  supporter.  He  was  said  to  be  a 
liberal  landlord,  so  long  as  his  tenants  did  not  thwart  him 
in  his  views.  His  only  son  died  early  :  and  his  lordship, 
according  to  report,  has  long  been  on  ill  terms  with  his 
kinsman  and  successor,  Sir  JoJm  Ringwood,  of  Appleshaw, 
Baronet.  The  Barony  has  been  in  this  ancient  family 
since  the  reign  of  George  I.,  when  Sir  John  Ringwood  was 
ennobled,  and  Sir  Francis,  his  brother,  a  Baron  of  the 
Exchequer,  was  advanced  to  the  dignity  of  Baronet  by  the 
first  of  our  Hanoverian  sovereigns." 

This  was  the  article  which  my  wife  and  I  read  on  the 
morning  of  Christmas  eve,  as  our  children  were  decking 
lamps  and  looking-glasses  with  holly  and  red  berries  for 
the  approaching  festival.  I  had  despatched  a  hurried  note, 
containing  the  news,  to  Philip  on  the  night  previous.  We 
were  painf\dly  anxious  about  his  fate  now,  when  a  few 
days  would  decide  it.  Again  my  business  or  curiosity 
took  me  to  see  Mr.  Bradgate,  the  laAvyer,  He  was  in  pos- 
session of  the  news,  of  course.  He  was  not  averse  to  talk 
about  it.  The  death  of  his  client  unsealed  the  lawyer's 
lips  partially :  and  I  must  say  Bradgate  spoke  in  a  manner 
not  flattering  to  his  noble  deceased  client.  The  brutalities 
of  the  late  nobleman  had  been  very  hard  to  bear.  On 
occasion   of   their   last  meeting   his   oaths  and  disrespect- 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        423 

ful  behavior  had  been  specially  odious.  He  had  abused 
almost  every  one  of  his  relatives.  His  heir,  he  said,  was 
a  prating,  republican  humbug.  He  had  a  relative  (whom 
Bradgate  said  he  would  not  name)  who  was  a  scheming, 
swaggering,  swindling,  lickspittle  parasite,  always  cring- 
ing at  his  heels  and  longing  for  his  death.  And  he  had 
another  relative,  the  impudent  son  of  a  swindling  doctor, 
who  had  insulted  him  two  hours  before  in  his  own  room ; 
—  a  fellow  who  was  a  pauper,  and  going  to  propagate  a 
breed  for  the  workhouse;  for,  after  his  behavior  of  that 
day,  he  would  be  condemned  to  the  lowest  pit  of  Acheron, 
before  he,  Lord  Eingwood,  would  give  that  scoundrel  a 
penny  of  his  money.  "And  his  lordship  desired  me  to 
send  him  back  his  will,"  said  Mr.  Bradgate.  And  he 
destroyed  that  will  before  he  went  away :  it  was  not  the 
first  he  had  burned.  "  And  I  may  tell  you,  now  all  is  over, 
that  he  had  left  his  brother's  grandson  a  handsome  legacy 
in  that  will,  which  your  poor  friend  might  have  had,  but 
that  he  went  to  see  my  lord  in  his  unlucky  fit  of  gout." 
Ah,  mea  culpa!  mea  culpa!  And  who  sent  Philip  to  see 
his  relative  in  that  unlucky  lit  of  gout  ?  Who  was  so 
Avorldly-wise,  so  Twysden-like,  as  to  counsel  Philip  to 
flattery  and  submission  ?  But  for  that  advice  he  might  be 
wealthy  now ;  he  might  be  happy ;  he  might  be  ready 
to  marry  his  young  sweetheart.  Our  Christmas  turkey 
choked  me  as  I  ate  of  it.  The  lights  burned  dimty,  and 
the  kisses  and  laughter  under  the  mistletoe  were  but  mel- 
ancholy sport.  But  for  my  advice,  how  happy  might  my 
friend  have  been !  I  looked  askance  at  the  honest  faces 
of  Tny  children.  What  would  they  say  if  they  knew  their 
father  had  advised  a  friend  to  cringe,  and  bow,  and  humble 
himself  before  a  rich,  wicked  old  man  ?  I  sat  as  mute  at 
the  pantomime  as  at  a  burial :  the  laughter  of  the  little 
ones  smote  me  as  with  a  reproof.  A  burial  ?  With 
plumes  and  lights,  and  upholsterers'  pageantry,  and 
mourning  by  the  yard  measure,  they  were  burying  mj 
Lord  Ringwood,  who  might  have  made  Philip  Firmin  rich 
but  for  me. 

All  lingering  hopes  regarding  our  friend  were  quickly 
put  to  an  end.  A  will  was  found  at  Whipham,  dated  a 
year  back,  in  which  no  mention  was  made  of  poor  Philip 
Firmin.  Small  legacies  —  disgracefully  shabby  and  small, 
Twysden  said  —  were  left  to  the  Tw^^sden  family,  with  the 
full-length  portrait  of  the  late  earl  in  his  coronation  robes, 


424  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

which,  I  should  think,  must  have  given  but  small  satisfac- 
tion to  his  surviving  relatives ;  for  his  lordship  was  but  an 
ill-favored  nobleman,  and  the  price  of  the  carriage  of  the 
large  picture  from  Whipham  was  a  tax  which  poor  Talbot 
made  very  wry  faces  at  paying.  Had  the  picture  been 
accompanied  by  thirty  or  forty  thousand  pounds,  or  lifty 
thousand  —  why  should  he  not  have  left  them  fifty  thou- 
sand?—  how  different  Talbot's  grief  would  have  been! 
Whereas  when  Talbot  counted  up  the  dinners  he  had 
given  to  Lord  Ringwood,  all  of  which  he  could  easily  cal- 
culate by  his  cunning  ledgers  and  journals  in  which  was 
noted  down  every  feast  at  which  his  lordship  attended, 
every  guest  assembled,  and  every  bottle  of  wine  drunk, 
Twysden  found  that  he  had  absolutely  spent  more  money 
upon  my  lord  than  the  old  man  had  paid  back  in  his  will. 
But  all  the  family  went  into  mourning,  and  the  Twysden 
coachman  and  footman  turned  out  in  black  worsted  epau- 
lets in  honor  of  the  illustrious  deceased.  It  is  not  every 
day  that  a  man  gets  a  chance  of  publicly  bewailing  the 
loss  of  an  earl  his  relative.  I  suppose  Twysden  took  many 
hundred  people  into  his  confidence  on  this  matter,  and 
bewailed  his  uncle's  death  and  his  own  wrongs  whilst 
clinging  to  many  scores  of  buttonholes. 

And  how  did  poor  Philip  bear  the  disappointment  ?  He 
must  have  felt  it,  for  I  fear  we  ourselves  had  encouraged 
him  in  the  hope  that  his  grand-uncle  would  do  something 
to  relieve  his  necessity.  Philip  put  a  bit  of  crape  round 
his  hat,  wrapped  himself  in  his  shabby  old  mantle,  and 
declined  any  outward  show  of  grief  at  all.  If  the  old  man 
had  left  him  money,  it  had  been  well.  As  he  did  not,"  a 
puff  of  cigar,  perhaps,  ends  the  sentence,  and  our  philoso- 
pher gives  no  further  thought  to  his  disappointment. 
Was  not  Philip  the  poor  as  lordly  and  independent  as 
Philip  the  rich  ?  A  struggle  with  poverty  is  a  wholesoiiie 
wrestling  match  at  three  or  five  and  twenty.  The  sinews 
are  young,  and  are  braced  by  the  contest.  It  is  upon  the 
aged  that  the  battle  falls  hardly,  who  are  weakened  by 
failing  health,  and  perhaps  enervated  by  long  years  of 
prosperity. 

Pirmin's  broad  back  could  carry  a  heavy  burden,  and  he 
was  glad  to  take  all  work  which  fell  in  his  way.  Phipps, 
of  the  Daily  Intelligence^^  wanting  an  assirtant,  Philip 
gladly  sold  four  hours  of  his  day  to  Mr.  Phipps  :  trans- 
lated page  after  page  of  newspapers,  French  and  German  ,• 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WOULD.        425 

took  an  occasional  turn  at  the  Chamber  of  Depnties,  and 
gave  an  account  of  a  sitting  of  importance,  and  made  him- 
self quite  an  active  lieutenant.  He  began  positively  to 
save  money.  He  wore  dreadfully  shabby  clothes,  to  be 
sure :  for  Charlotte  could  not  go  to  his  chamber  and  mend 
his  rags  as  the  Little  Sister  had  done:  but  when  Mrs. 
Baynes  abused  him  for  his  shabby  appearance  —  and 
indeed  it  must  have  been  mortifying  sometimes  to  see  the 
fellow  in  his  old  clothes  swaggering  about  in  ^Madame 
Smolensk's  apartments,  talking  loud,  contradicting,  and 
laying  down  the  law  —  Charlotte  defended  her  maligned 
Philip.  "  Do  you  know  why  Monsieur  Philip  has  those 
shabby  clothes  ? "  she  asked  of  Madame  de  Smolensk. 
'•Because  he  has  been  sending  money  to  his  father  in 
America."  And  Smolensk  said  that  Monsieur  Philip  was 
a  brave  young  man,  and  that  he  might  come  dressed  like 
an  Iroquois  to  her  soiree,  and  he  should  be  welcome.  And 
Mrs.  Baynes  was  rude  to  Philip  when  he  was  present,  and 
scornful  in  her  remarks  when  he  was  absent.  And  Philip 
trembled  before  Mrs.  Baynes ;  and  he  took  her  boxes  on 
the  ear  with  much  meekness ;  for  was  not  his  Charlotte  a 
hostage  in  her  mother's  hands,  and  might  not  Mrs.  General 
B.  make  that  poor  little  creature  suffer  ? 

One  or  two  Indian  ladies  of  Mrs.  Baynes's  acquaintance 
happened  to  ])ass  this  winter  in  Paris,  and  these  persons, 
who  had  furnished  lodgings  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore, 
or  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  rode  in  their  carriages  with, 
very  likely,  a  footman  on  the  box,  rather  looked  down 
upon  Mrs.  Baynes  for  living  in  a  boarding-house,  and 
keeping  no  equipage.  No  woman  likes  to  be  locked  down 
upon  by  any  other  woman,  especially  by  such  a  creature 
as  JNIrs.  Batters,  the  lawyer's  wife,  from  Calcutta,  who  was 
not  in  society,  and  did  not  go  to  Government  House,  and 
here  was  driving  about  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  giving 
herself  such  airs,  indeed !  So  was  Mrs.  Doctor  Maccon, 
with  her  lach/s-maicl,  and  her  man-cook,  and  her  ojjen  car- 
riage, and  her  close  carriage.  (Pray  read  these  words  with 
the  most  withering  emphasis  which  you  can  lay  upon 
them.)  And  who  was  ^Frs.  Macoon,  pray  ?  Madame 
Beret,  the  Prench  milliner's  daughter,  neither  more  nor 
less.  And  this  creature  must  scatter  her  mud  over  her 
betters  who  went  on  foot.  ''I  am  telling  my  poor  girls, 
Madame,"  she  would  say  to  Madame  Smolensk,  '^  that  if 
I  had  been  a  milliner's  girl,  or   their  father  had  been  a 


426  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

pettifogging  attorney,  and  not  a  soldier,  who  has  served 
liis  sovereign  in  every  quarter  of  the  workl,  they  would  be 
better  dressed  than  they  are  now,  poor  chicks  !  —  we  might 
have  a  fine  apartment  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore  —  we 
need  not  live  at  a  boarding-house." 

"  And  if  /  had  been  a  milliner,  Madame  Generale,"  cried 
Smolensk,  with  spirit,  "  perhaps  I  should  not  have  had  need 
to  keep  a  boarding-house.  My  father  was  a  general  officer, 
and  served  his  emperor  too.  But  what  will  you  ?  AVe  have 
all  to  do  disagreeable  things,  and  to  live  with  disagreeable 
people,  Madame ! "  And  with  this  Smolensk  makes  IVh-s. 
General  Baynes  a  fine  courtesy,  and  goes  off  to  other  affairs 
or  guests.  She  was  of  the  opinion  of  many  of  Philip's 
friends.  "Ah,  Monsieur  Philip,"  she  said  to  him,  "when 
you  are  married,  you  will  live  far  from  that  woman ;  is  it 
not  ?  " 

Hearing  that  Mrs.  Batters  was  going  to  the  Tuileries, 
I  am  sorry  to  say  a  violent  emulation  inspired  Mrs. 
Baynes,  and  she  never  was  easy  until  she  persuaded  her 
General  to  take  her  to  the  ambassador's,  and  to  the  enter- 
tainments of  the  citizen  king  who  governed  France  in  those 
days.  It  would  cost  little  or  nothing.  Charlotte  must  be 
brought  out.  Her  aunt,  MacWhirter,  from  Tours,  had  sent 
Chai-lotte  a  present  of  money  for  a  dress.  To  do  Mrs. 
Baynes  justice,  she  spent  very  little  money  upon  her  own 
raiment,  and  extracted  from  one  of  her  trunks  a  costume 
which  had  done  duty  at  Barrackpore  and  Calcutta.  "  After 
hearing  that  Mrs.  Batters  went,  I  knew  she  would  never  be 
easy,"  General  Baynes  said,  with  a  sigh.  His  wife  denied 
the  accusation  as  an  outrage ;  said  that  men  alwaj^s  imputed 
the  worst  motives  to  women,  whereas  her  wish,  heaven 
knows,  was  only  to  see  her  darling  child  properly  presented, 
and  her  husband  in  his  proper  rank  in  the  world.  And 
Charlotte  looked  lovely,  upon  the  evening  of  the  ball ;  and 
Madame  Smolensk  dressed  Charlotte's  hair  very  prettily, 
and  offered  to  lend  Auguste  to  accompany  the  General's 
carriage ;  but  Ogoost  revolted,  and  said,  "  Non,  merci !  he 
would  do  anything  for  the  General  and  Miss  Charlotte  — 
but  for  the  Generale,  no,  no,  no  ! "  and  he  made  signs  of  vio- 
lent abnegation.  And  though  Charlotte  looked  as  sweet  as 
a  rosebud,  she  had  little  pleasure  in  her  ball,  Philip  not 
being  present.  And  how  could  he  be  present,  who  had  but 
one  old  coat,  and  holes  in  his  boots  ? 

So  you  see,  after  a  sunny  autumn,  a  cold  winter  comes, 


ON  HIS    WAY  Tim 0 UGH   THE    WORLD.        427 

when  the  wind  is  bad  for  delicate  chests,  and  muddy  for  lit- 
tle shoes.  How  could  Charlotte  come  out  at  eight  o'clock 
through  mud  or  snow  of  a  winter's  morning,  if  she  had  been 
out  at  an  evening  party  late  over-night  ?  Mrs.  General 
Baynes  began  to  go  out  a  good  deal  to  the  Paris  evening  par- 
ties—  I  mean  to  the  parties  of  us  Trojans  —  parties  Avhere 
there  are  forty  English  people,  three  Frenchmen,  and  a  Ger- 
man  who  plays  the  piano.  Charlotte  was  very  much  ad- 
mired. The  fame  of  her  good  looks  spread  abroad.  I  prom- 
ise you  that  there  were  persons  of  much  more  importance 
than  the  poor  Vicomte  de  Gcuyon-boutlque,  who  were  charmed 
by  her  bright  eyes,  her  bright  smiles,  her  artless,  rosy  beauty. 
AVhy,  little  Hely,  of  the  Embassy,  actually  invited  himself 
to  Mrs.  Dr.  Macoon's,  in  order  to  see  this  young  beauty,  and 
danced  with  her  without  ceasing :  Mr.  Hely,  who  was  the 
pink  of  fashion,  you  know ;  who  danced  with  the  royal  prin- 
cesses; and  was  at  all  the  grand  parties  of  the  Faubourg  St. 
Germain.  He  saw  her  to  her  carriage  (a  very  shabby  fly,  it 
must  be  confessed;  but  Mrs.  Baynes  told  him  they  had  been 
accustomed  to  a  very  different  kind  of  equipage  in  India). 
He  actually  called  at  the  boarding-house,  and  left  his  card, 
3L  Wa  Is  hi  (J  ham  Hely,  attache  a  V  Amhassade  de  S.  M.  Brit- 
annique,  for  General  Baynes  and  his  lady.  To  what  balls 
would  Mrs.  Baynes  like  to  go  ?  to  the  Tuileries  ?  to  the 
Embassy  ?  to  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  ?  to  the  Faubourg 
St.  Honore  ?  I  could  name  many  more  persons  of  distinc- 
tion who  were  fascinated  by  pretty  Miss  Charlotte.  Her 
mother  felt  more  and  more  ashamed  of  the  shabb}^  fly,  in 
which  our  young  lady  was  conveyed  to  and  from  her  par- 
ties;—  of  the  shabby  fly,  and  of  that  shabby  cavalier  who 
was  in  waiting  sometimes  to  put  Miss  Charlotte  into  her  car- 
riage. Charlotte's  mother's  ears  were  only  too  acute  when 
disparaging  remarks  were  made  about  that  cavalier.  What  ? 
engaged  to  that  queer  red-bearded  fellow,  with  the  ragged 
shirt-collars,  who  trod  upon  everybody  in  the  polka?  A 
newspaper  writer,  was  he  ?  The  son  of  that  doctor  who  ran 
away  after  cheating  everybody  ?  What  a  very  odd  thing 
of  General  Baynes  to  think  of  engaging  his  daughter  to  such 
a  person  ! 

So  Mr.  Firmin  was  not  asked  to  many  distinguished 
houses  where  his  Charlotte  was  made  welcome;  where  there 
was  dancing  in  the  salon,  very  mild  negus  and  cakes  in  the 
salle-a-manrjer,  and  cards  in  the  lady's  bedroom.  And  he 
did  not  care  to  be  asked ;  and  he  made  himself  very  arrogant 


428  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

and  disagreeable  when  he  was  asked ;  and  he  would  upset 
tea-trays,  and  burst  out  into  roars  of  laughter  at  all  times, 
and  swagger  about  the  drawiug-room  as  if  he  were  a  man 
of  importance — he  indeed  —  giving  himself  such  airs,  be- 
cause his  grandfather's  brother  was  an  earl !  And  what  had 
the  earl  done  for  him,  pray  ?  And  what  right  had  he  to 
burst  out  laughing  when  Miss  Crackley  sang  a  little  out  of 
tune  ?  What  could  General  Baynes  mean  by  selecting  such 
a  husband  for  tliat  nice,  modest  young  girl  ? 

The  old  General,  sitting  in  the  best  bedroom,  placidly 
playing  at  whist  with  the  other  British  fogies,  does  not  hear 
these  remarks,  perhaps,  but  little  Mrs.  Baynes  with  her 
eager  eyes  and  ears  sees  and  knows  everything.  Many  peo- 
ple have  told  her  that  Philip  is  a  bad  match  for  her  daugh- 
ter. She  has  heard  him  contradict  calmly  quite  wealthy 
people.  Mr.  Hobday,  who  has  a  house  in  Carlton  Terrace, 
London,  and  goes  to  the  first  houses  in  Paris,  Philip  has 
contradicted  him  point  blank,  until  Mr.  Hobday  turned  quite 
red,  and  Mrs.  Hobday  didn't  know  where  to  look.  Mr.  Pep- 
loAV,  a  clergyman  and  a  baronet's  eldest  son,  who  will  be  one 
day  the  Rev.  Sir  Charles  Peplow  of  Peplow  Manor,  was 
praising  Tomlinson's  poems,  and  offered  to  read  them  out 
at  Mr.  Badger's  —  he  reads  very  finely,  though  a  little  per- 
haps through  his  nose  —  and  when  he  wa^  going  to  begin, 
Mr.  Firmin  said,  "  My  dear  Peplow,  for  heaven's  sake  don't 
give  us  any  of  that  rot.  I  would  as  soon  hear  one  of  your 
own  prize  poems."  Eot,  indeed!  What  an  expression !  Of 
course  Mr.  Peplow  was  very  much  annoyed.  And  this  from 
a  mere  newspaper  writer.  Never  heard  of  such  rudeness  ! 
Mrs.  Tuffin  said  she  took  her  line  at  once  after  seeing  this 
Mr.  Firmin.  "  He  may  be  an  earl's  grand-nephew,  for  what 
I  care.  He  may  have  been  at  college,  he  has  not  learned 
good  manners  there.  He  may  be  clever,  I  don't  profess  to 
be  a  judge.  But  he  is  most  overbearing,  clumsy,  and  disa- 
greeable. I  shall  not  ask  him  to  my  Tuesdays ;  and  Emma, 
if  he  asks  you  to  dance,  I  beg  you  will  do  no  such  thing ! " 
A  bull,  you  understand,  in  a  meadow,  or  on  a  prairie  Avith 
a  herd  of  other  buffaloes,  is  a  noble  animal :  but  a  bull  in  a 
china-shop  is  out  of  place ;  and  even  so  was  Philip  amongst 
the  crockery  of  those  little  simple  tea-parties,  where  his 
mane,  and  hoofs,  and  roar,  caused  endless  disturbance. 

These  remarks  concerning  the  accepted  son-in-law  Mrs 
Baynes  heard  and,  at  proper  moments,  repeated.  She  ruled 
Baynes ;  but  was  very  cautious,  and  secretly  afraid  of  him. 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        429 

Once  or  twice  she  had  gone  too  far  in  her  dealings  with  the 
quiet  old  man,  and  he  had  revolted,  put  her  down  and  never 
forgiven  her.  Beyond  a  certain  point,  she  dared  not  pro- 
voke her  husband.  She  would  say,  "Well,  Baynes,  marriage 
is  a  lottery :  and  I  am  afraid  our  poor  Charlotte  has  not 
pulled  a  prize : "  on  which  the  General  would  reply,  "  Xo 
more  have  others,  my  dear ! "  and  so  drop  the  subject  for 
the  time  being.  On  another  occasion  it  would  be,  "You 
have  heard  how  rude  Philip  Firmin  was  to  Mr.  Hobday  ?  " 
and  the  General  Avould  answer,  "  I  was  at  cards,  my  dear." 
Again  she  might  say,  "  ^Irs.  Tuffin  says  she  will  not  have 
Pliilip  Firmin  to  her  Tuesdays,  my  dear : "  and  the  General's 
rejoinder  would  be,  "  Begad,  so  much  the  better  for  him  ! " 
"  Ah,"  she  groans,  " he's  always  offending  some  one  ! "  "I 
don't  think  he  seems  to  please  you  much,  Eliza !  "  responds 
the  General:  and  she  answers,  "Xo,  he  don't,  and  that  I 
confess  ;  and  I  don't  like  to  think,  Baynes,  of  my  sweet 
child  given  up  to  certain  poverty,  and  such  a  man ! "  At 
which  the  General  with  some  of  his  garrison  phrases  would 
break  out  with  a  "  Hang  it,  Eliza,  do  you  suppose  I  think 
it  is  a  very  good  match  ?  "  and  turn  to  the  wall,  and,  I  hoj^e, 
to  sleep. 

As  for  poor  little  Charlotte,  her  mother  is  not  afraid  of 
little  Charlotte :  and  when  the  two  are  alone  the  poor  child 
knows  she  is  to  be  made  wretched  by  her  mother's  assaults 
upon  Philip.  Was  there  ever  anything  so  bad  as  his  be- 
havior, to  burst  out  laughing  when  ^liss  Crackley  was  sing- 
ing ?  Was  he  called  upon  to  contradict  Sir  Charles  Peplow 
in  that  abrupt  way,  and  as  good  as  tell  him  he  was  a  fool  ? 
It  was  very  wrong  certainly,  and  poor  Charlotte  thinks, 
with  a  blush  perhaps,  how  she  was  just  at  the  point  of 
admiring  Sir  Charles  Peplow's  reading  very  much,  and  had 
been  prepared  to  think  Tomlinson's  poems  delightful,  until 
Philip  ordered  her  to  adopt  a  contemptuous  opinion  of  the 
poet.  "  And  did  you  see  how  he  was  dressed  ?  a  button 
wanting  on  his  waistcoat,  and  a  hole  in  his  boot  ?  " 

"  ^Nlamma,"  cries  Charlotte,  turning  very  red.  "  He  might 
have  been  better  dressed  —  if  —  if  —  " 

"  That  is,  you  would  like  your  own  father  to  be  in  prison, 
your  mother  to  beg  her  bread,  your  sisters  to  go  in  rags,  and 
your  brothers  to  starve,  Charlotte,  in  order  that  we  should 
pay  Philip  Firmin  back  the  money  of  which  his  father 
robbed  him !  Yes.  That's  your  meaning.  You  needn't 
explain  yourself.     I  can  understand  quite  well,  thank  you. 


430  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP. 

Good-niglrt.  I  hope  youHl  sleep  well ;  /  shan't  after  this 
conversation.  Good-night,  (charlotte  ! "  Ah,  me.  O  course 
of  true  love,  didst  thou  ever  run  smooth  ?  As  we  peep  into 
that  boarding-house,  whereof  I  have  already  described  the 
mistress  as  wakeful  with  racking  care  regarding  the  mor- 
roAv;  wherein  lie  the  Miss  Bolderos,  who  must  naturally  be 
very  uncomfortable,  being  on  suiferance  and  as  it  were  in 
pain,  as  they  lie  on  their  beds;  —  what  sorrows  do  we  not 
perceive  brooding  over  the  nightcaps  ?  There  is  poor  Char- 
lotte who  has  said  her  prayer  for  her  Philip ;  and  as  she 
lays  her  young  eyes  on  the  pillow,  they  wet  it  with  their 
tears.  Why  does  her  mother  forever  and  forever  speak 
against  him  ?  Why  is  her  father  so  cold  when  Philip's 
name  is  mentioned  ?  Could  Charlotte  ever  think  of  any  but 
him  ?  Oh,  never,  never !  And  so  the  wet  eyes  are  veiled 
at  last ;  and  close  in  doubt  and  fear  and  care.  And  in  the 
next  room  to  Charlotte's,  a  little  yellow  old  woman  lies 
stark  awake ;  and  in  the  bed  by  her  side  an  old  gentleman 
can't  close  his  eyes  for  thinking  —  my  poor  girl  is  promised 
to  a  beggar.  All  the  fine  hopes  which  we  had  of  his  getting 
a  legacy  from  that  lord  are  over.  Poor  child,  poor  child, 
what  will  become  of  her  ? 

Now,  Two  Sticks,  let  us  fly  over  the  river  Seine  to  Mr. 
Philip  Firmin's  quarters ;  to  Philip's  house,  who  has  not  got 
a  penny  ;  to  Philip's  bed,  who  has  made  himself  so  rude 
and  disagreeable  at  that  tea-party.  He  has  no  idea  that  he 
has  offended  anybody.  He  has  gone  home  perfectly  well 
pleased.  He  has  kicked  off  the  tattered  boot.  He  has 
found  a  little  fire  lingering  in  his  stove  by  which  he  has 
smoked  the  pipe  of  thought.  Ere  he  has  jumped  into  his 
bed  he  has  knelt  a  moment  beside  it ;  and  with  all  his  heart 
—  oh !  with  all  his  heart  and  soul  —  has  committed  the 
dearest  one  to  heaven's  loving  protection !  And  now  he 
sleeps  like  a  child. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 


i:n  which  we   still  hover  about  the   elysian   fields. 


HE  clescriber 
and  biographer 
of  my  friend 
Mr.  Philip  Fir- 
min  has  tried 
to  extenuate 
nothing;  and,  I 
hope,  has  set 
down  naught  in 
malice.  If 
^  Philip's  boots 
had  holes  in 
them,  I  have 
written  that  he 
had  holes  in 
his  boots.  If 
he  had  a  red 
beard,  there  it 
is  red  in  this 
stor3\  I  might 
have  oiled  it 
with  a  tinge  of 
brown,  and 
painted  it  a 
rich  auburn. 
Towards  modest  people  he  was  gentle  and  tender ;  but  I 
must  own  that  in  general  societ}'  he  was  not  alwaj'S  an 
agreeable  companion.  He  was  often  haughty  and  arrogant : 
he  was  impatient  of  old  stories :  he  was  intolerant  of 
commonplaces.  Mrs.  I>aynes's  anecdotes  of  her  garrison 
experiences  in  India  and  Europe  got  a  very  impatient  hear- 
ing from  ]\rr.  Phili]:> ;  and  though  little  Charlotte  gently 
remonstrated  with  him,  saying,  "■  Do,  do  let  mamma  tell  her 
Btory  out;  and  don't  turn  away  and  talk  about  something 

4<il 


432  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

else  in  the  inidst  of  it :  and  don't  tell  her  you  have  heard 
the  story  before,  you  rude  man  !  If  she  is  not  pleased  Avith 
you,  she  is  angry  with  me,  and  I  have  to  suffer  when  you 
are  gone  away."  Miss  Charlotte  did  not  say  how  much  she 
had  to  suffer  when  Philip  was  absent;  how  constantly  her 
mother  found  fault  with  him ;  what  a  sad  life,  in  conse- 
quence of  her  attachment  to  him,  the  young  maiden  had  to 
lead ;  and  I  fear  that  clumsy  Philip,  in  his  selhsh  thought- 
lessness, did  not  take  enough  count  of  the  sufferings  which 
his  behavior  brought  on  the  girl.  You  see  I  am  acknowl- 
edging that  there  were  many  faults  on  his  side,  which  per- 
haps may  in  some  degree  excuse  or  account  for  those  which 
Mrs.  General  Baynes  certainly  committed  towards  him. 
She  did  not  love  Philip  naturally  ;  and  do  you  suppose  she 
loved  him  because  she  was  under  great  obligations  to  him  ? 
Do  you  love  your  creditor  because  you  owe  him  more  than 
you  can  ever  pay  ?  If  I  never  paid  my  tailor,  should  I  be 
on  good  terms  with  him  ?  I  might  go  on  ordering  suits  of 
clothes  from  now  to  the  year  nineteen  hundred;  but  I 
should  hate  him  worse  year  after  year.  I  should  find  fault 
with  his  cut  and  his  cloth :  I  dare  say  I  should  end  by 
thinking  his  bills  extortionate,  though  I  never  paid  them. 
Kindness  is  very  indigestible.  It  disagrees  with  very 
proud  stomachs.  I  wonder  was  that  traveller  who  fell 
among  the  thieves  grateful  afterwards  to  the  Samaritan 
who  rescued  him  ?  He  gave  money  certainly  ;  but  he  didn't 
miss  it.  The  religious-  opinions  of  Samaritans  are  lamen- 
tably heterodox.  0  brother !  may  we  help  the  fallen  still, 
though  they  never  pay  us,  and  may  we  lend  without  exact- 
ing the  usury  of  gratitude  ! 

Of  this  I  am  determined,  that  whenever  I  go  courting 
again,  I  will  not  pay  my  addresses  to  my  dear  creature  — 
day  after  da}^,  and  from  year's  end  to  year's  end,  very  likel}' 
—  with  the  dear  girl's  mother,  father,  and  half  a  dozen  young 
brothers  and  sisters  in  the  room.  I  shall  begin  by  being 
civil  to  the  old  lady,  of  course.  She  is  flattered  at  first  by 
having  a  young  fellow  coming  courting  her  daughter.  She 
calls  me  "  dear  Edward  ;  "  works  me  a  pair  of  braces  ;  writes 
to  mamma  and  sisters,  and  so  forth.  Old  gentleman  says, 
''Brown  my  boy"  (I  am  here  fondly  imagining  myself  to  be 
a  young  fellow  named  Edward  Brown,  attached,  let  us  say, 
to  Miss  Kate  Thompson)  —  Thompson,  I  say,  says,  "Brown 
my  boy,  come  to  dinner  at  seven.  Cover  laid  for  you 
always."     And  of  course,  delicious  thought !  that  cover  is 


ON  HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        433 

by  dearest  Kate's  side.  But  the  dinner  is  bad  sometimes. 
Sometimes  I  come  late.  Sometimes  things  are  going  badly 
in  the  City.  Sometimes  ]\Irs.  Thompson  is  out  of  humor  ; 
—  she  always  thought  Kate  might  have  done  better.  And 
in  the  midst  of  these  doubts  and  delays,  suppose  Joxes 
appears,  who  is  older,  but  of  a  better  temper,  a  better  family, 
and  —  plague  on  him !  —  twice  as  rich  ?  What  are  engage- 
ments ?  What  are  promises  ?  It  is  sometimes  an  affec- 
tionate mother's  duty  to  break  her  promise,  and  that  duty 
the  resolute  matron  will  do. 

Then  Edward  is  Edward  no  more,  but  Mr.  Brown ;  or, 
worse  still,  nameless  in  the  house.  Then  the  knife  and 
fork  are  removed  from  poor  Kate's  side,  and  she  swallows 
her  own  sad  meal  in  tears.  Then  if  one  of  the  little 
Thompsons  says,  artlessly,  "Papa,  I  met  Teddy  Brown  in 
Eegent  Street;  he  looked  so — "  "Hold  your  tongue, 
unfeeling  wretch  I "  cries  mamma.  "Look  at  that  dear 
child  ! "  Kate  is  swooning.  She  has  sal-volatile.  The 
medical  man  is  sent  for.  And  presently  —  Charles  Jones 
is  taking  Kate  Thompson  to  dinner.  Long  voyages  are 
dangerous  ;  so  are  long  courtships.  In  long  voyages  passen- 
gers perpetually  quarrel  (for  that  Mrs.  General  could 
vouch) ;  in  long  courtships  the  same  danger  exists  ;  and  how 
much  the  more  when  in  that  latter  ship  you  have  a  mother 
who  is  forever  putting  in  her  oar !  And  then  to  think  of 
the  annoyance  of  that  love  voyage  when  you  and  the 
beloved  and  beloved's  papa,  mamma,  half  a  dozen  brothers 
and  sisters,  are  all  in  one  cabin !  For  economy's  sake  the 
Bayneses  had  no  sitting-room  at  Madame's — for  you  could 
not  call  that  room  on  the  second  floor  a  sitting-room  which 
had  two  beds  in  it,  and  in  which  the  young  ones  practised 
the  piano,  Avith  poor  Cliarlotte  as  their  mistress.  Philip's 
courting  had  to  take  place  for  the  most  part  before  the 
whole  family ;  and  to  make  love  under  sucli  difficulties 
would  have  been  horrible  and  maddening  and  impossible 
almost,  only  we  have  admitted  that  our  young  friends  had 
little  walks  in  the  Champs  Elysees ;  and  then  you  must 
own  that  it  must  have  been  delightful  for  them  to  write 
each  other  perpetual  little  notes,  which  were  delivered 
occultly  under  the  very  nose  of  papa  and  mamma,  and  in  the 
acutal  presence  of  the  other  boarders  at  Madame's,  who,  of 
course,  never  saw  anything  tliat  was  going  on.  Yes,  those 
sly  monkeys  actually  made  little  post-offices  about  the  room. 
There  was,  for  instance,  tlie  clock  on  the  mantel-piece  in  the 
VOL.    T.  — 28 


434  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

salon  on  which  was  carved  the  old  French  allegory,  ^^  Le 
temjys  fait  ^jasser  l^tmour."  One  of  those  artful  young 
people  would  pop  a  note  into  Time's  boat,  where  you  may 
be  sure  no  one  saw  it.  The  trictrac  board  was  another 
post-office.  So  was  the  drawer  of  the  music-stand.  So  was 
the  Sevres  china  flower-pot,  &c.,  &c.,  to  each  of  which 
repositories  in  its  turn  the  lovers  confided  the  delicious 
secrets  of  their  wooing. 

Have  you  ever  looked  at  your  love-letters  to  Darby,  when 
you  were  courting,  dear  Joan  ?  They  are  sacred  pages  to 
read.  You  have  his  tied  up  somewhere  in  a  faded  ribbon. 
You  scarce  need  spectacles  as  you  look  at  them.  The 
hair  grows  black ;  the  eyes  moisten  and  brighten ;  the 
cheeks  fill  and  blush  again.  I  protest  there  is  nothing  so 
beautiful  as  Darby  and  Joan  in  the  world.  I  hope  Philip 
and  his  wife  will  be  Darby  and  Joan  to  the  end.  I  tell  you 
they  are  married ;  and  don't  want  to  make  any  mysteries 
about  the  business.  I  disdain  that  sort  of  artifice.  In  the 
days  of  the  old  three-volume  novels,  didn't  you  always  look 
at  the  end,  to  see  that  Louisa  and  the  earl  (or  young  clergy- 
man, as  the  case  might  be)  were  happy  ?  If  they  died,  or 
met  Avith  other  grief,  for  my  part  I  put  the  book  away. 
This  pair,  then,  are  well ;  are  married ;  are,  I  trust,  happy : 
but  before  they  married,  and  afterwards,  they  had  great 
griefs  and  troubles  ;  as  no  doubt  you  have  had,  dear  sir  or 
madam,  since  you  underwent  that  ceremony.  Married  ? 
Of  course  they  are.  Do  you  suppose  I  would  have  allowed 
little  Charlotte  to  meet  Philip  in  the  Champs  Ely  sees  with 
only  a  giddy  little  boy  of  a  brother  for  a  companion,  who 
would  turn  away  to  see  Punch,  Guignol,  the  soldiers  march- 
ing by,  the  old  woman's  gingerbread  and  toffy  stall,  and  so 
forth  ?  Do  you,  I  say,  suppose  I  would  have  allowed  those 
two  to  go  out  together,  unless  they  were  to  be  married 
afterwards  ?  Out  walking  together  they  did  go  ;  and,  once, 
as  they  were  arm-in-arm  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  whom 
should  they  see  in  a  fine  open  carriage  but  3'oung  Twysden 
and  Captain  and  Mrs.  Woolcomb,  to  whom,  as  they  passed, 
Philip  doffed  his  hat  with  a  i)rofound  bow,  and  Avhom  he 
further  saluted  with  a  roar  of  immense  laughter.  Wool- 
comb  must  have  heard  the  peal.  I  dare  say  it  brought  a 
little  blush  to  Mrs.  Woolcomb's  cheek  :  and  —  and  so,  no 
doubt,  added  to  the  many  attractions  of  that  elegant  lady. 
I  have  no  secrets  about  my  characters,  and  speak  my  mind 
about  them  quite  freely.     They  said  that  Woolcomb  Avas 


ON  HIS    WAY   rU ROUGH   THE    WOULD.        435 

Lli3  most  jealous,  stingy,  ostentatious,  cruel  little  brute; 
tiiat  he  led  his  wife  a  dismal  life.  Well  ?  If  he  did?  I'm 
oure  I  don't  care.  "There  is  that  swaggering  bankrupt 
beggar  Firmin  I  "  cries  the  tawny  bridegroom,  biting  his 
moustache.  "Impudent  ragged  blackguard,"  says  Twysden 
minor.     "  I  saw  him." 

"Hadn't  you  better  stop  the  carriage,  and  abuse  him  to 
himself,  and  not  to  me  ?  "  says  Mrs.  Woolcomb,  languidly, 
flinging  herself  back  on  her  cushions. 

*•  Go  on,  hang  you  !  Ally  !  Vite  ! "  cry  the  gentlemen 
in  the  carriage  to  the  laquals  de  place  on  the  box. 

"  I  can  fancy  you  don't  care  about  seeing  him,"  resumes 
Mrs.  Woolcomb.  "He  has  a  violent  temper,  and  I  would 
not  have  you  quarfel  for  the  world."  So  I  suppose  Wool- 
comb again  swears  at  the  laquals  de  place:  and  the  happy 
couple,  as  the  saying  is,  roll  away  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 

"  What  makes  you  laugh  so  ? "  says  little  Charlotte, 
fondl}',  as  she  trips  along  by  her  lover's  side. 

"  Becaus3  I  am  so  happy,  my  dearest ! "  says  the  other, 
squeezing  to  his  heart  the  little  hand  that  lies  on  his  arm. 
As  he  thinks  on  yonder  woman,  and  then  looks  into  the 
pure,  eager  face  of  the  sweet  girl  beside  him,  the  scornful 
laughter  occasioned  by  the  sudden  meeting  w^hich  is  just 
over  hushes ;  and  an  immense  feeling  of  thankfulness  fills 
the  breast  of  the  young  man; — thankfulness  for  the  dan- 
ger from  which  he  has  escaped,  and  for  the  blessed  prize 
which  has  fallen  to  him. 

But  Mr.  Philip's  walks  were  not  to  be  all  as  pleasant  as 
this  walk;  and  we  are  now  coming  to  a  history  of  wet, 
slippery  roads,  bad  times,  and  winter  weather.  All  I  can 
promise  about  this  gloomy  part  is,  that  it  shall  not  be  a 
long  story.  You  will  acknowledge  we  made  very  short 
work  with  the  love-making,  which  I  give  you  my  word  T 
consider  to  be  the  very  easiest  part  of  the  novel-writer's 
business.  As  those  rapturous  scenes  between  the  captain 
and  the  heroine  are  going  on,  a  writer  who  knows  his  busi- 
ness may  be  thinking  about  anything  else  —  about  the 
ensuing  chapter,  or  about  what  he  is  going  to  have  for 
dinner,  or  what  you  will ;  therefore,  as  w^e  passed  over  the 
raptures  and  joys  of  the  courting  so  very  curtly,  you  must 
please  to  gratify  me  by  taking  the  grief  in  a  very  short 
measure.  If  our  young  peo}jle  are  going  to  suffer,  let  the 
pain  be  soon  over.  "  Sit  down  in  the  chair,  Miss  Baynes, 
if  you  please,  and  you,  Mr.  Firmin,  in  this.     Allow  me  to 


436  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

examine  you;  just  open  3'our  mouth,  if  you  please  ;  and  — 
oh,  oh,  my  dear  miss  —  there,  it  is  out!  A  little  eau-de- 
Cologne  and  water,  my  dear.  And  now,  Mr.  Firmin,  if 
you  please,  we  will  —  what  fangs!  what  a  big  ore!  Two 
guineas.  Thank  you.  Good-morning.  Come  to  me  once 
a  year.  John,  show  in  the  next  party."  About  the  ensu- 
ing painful  business,  then,  I  protest  I  don't  intend  to  be 
much  longer  occupied  than  the  humane  and  dexterous 
operator  to  whom  I  have  made  so  bold  as  to  liken  myself. 
If  my  pretty  Charlotte  is  to  have  a  tooth  out,  it  shall  be 
removed  as  gently  as  possible,  poor  dear.  As  for  Philiji 
and  his  great  red-bearded  jaw,  I  don't  care  so  much  if  the 
tug  makes  him  roar  a  little.  And  yet  they  remain,  they 
remain  and  throb  in  after  life,  those  wounds  of  early  days. 
Have  I  not  said  how,  as  I  chanced  to  walk  with  Mr.  Fir- 
min in  Paris,  many  years  after  the  domestic  circumstances 
here  recorded,  he  paused  before  the  window  of  that  house 
near  the  Champs  Elysees  where  Madame  Smolensk  once  held 
her  j)e7islo7i,  shook  his  fist  at  a  jalousie  of  the  now  dingy 
and  dilapidated  mansion,  and  intimated  to  me  that  he  had 
undergone  severe  sufferings  in  the  chamber  lighted  by  yon- 
der window  ?  So  have  we  all  suffered ;  so,  very  likely,  my 
dear  young  miss  or  master  who  peruses  this  modest  page, 
will  you  have  to  suffer  in  your  time.  You  will  not  die  of 
the  operation,  most  probably :  but  it  is  painful :  it  makes 
a  gap  in  the  mouth,  voyez-vous?  and  years  and  years, 
maybe,  after,  as  you  think  of  it,  the  smart  is  renewed,  and 
the  dismal  tragedy  enacts  itself  over  again. 

Philip  liked  his  little  maiden  to  go  out,  to  dance,  to 
laugh,  to  be  admired,  to  be  happy.  In  her  artless  way  she 
told  him  of  her  balls,  her  tea-parties,  her  pleasures,  her 
partners.  In  a  girl's  first  little  season  nothing  escapes  her. 
Have  you  not  wondered  to  hear  them  tell  about  the  events 
of  the  evening,  about  the  dresses  of  the  dowagers,  about 
the  compliments  of  the  young  men,  about  the  behavior  of 
the  girls,  and  what  not  ? 

Little  Charlotte  used  to  enact  the  over-night's  comedy 
for  Philip,  pouring  out  her  young  heart  in  her  prattle  as 
her  little  feet  skipped  by  his  side.  And  to  hear  Philip 
roar  with  laughter !  It  would  have  done  you  good.  You 
might  have  heard  him  from  the  Obelisk  to  the  Etoile. 
People  turned  roun»l  to  look  at  him,  and  shrugged  their 
shoulders  wonderingh^,  as  good-natured  French  folks  will 
do.     How  could  a  man  who  had  been  lately  ruined,  a  man 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH  THE    WORLD.        4.^J 

who  had  just  been  disappointed  of  a  great  legacy  from  the 
Earl  his  great-uncle,  a  man  whose  boots  were  in  that 
lamentable  condition,  laugh  so,  and  have  such  high  spirits  ? 
To  think  of  such  an  impudent  ragged  blackguard,  as  Iving- 
wood  Tw^^sden  called  his  cousin,  daring  to  be  happy  !  The 
fact  is,  that  clap  of  laughter  smote  those  three  Twysden 
people  like  three  boxes  on  the  ear,  and  made  all  their 
cheeks  tingle  and  blush  at  once.  At  Philip's  merriment 
clouds  which  had  come  over  Charlotte's  sweet  face  would 
be  chased  away.  As  she  clung  to  him,  doubts  which 
throbbed  at  the  girl's  heart  would  vanish.  When  she  was 
acting  those  scenes  of  the  past  night's  entertainment,  she 
was  not  always  happy.  As  she  talked  and  prattled,  her 
own  spirits  would  rise ;  and  hope  and  natural  joy  would 
spring  in  her  heart  again,  and  come  flushing  up  to  her 
cheek.  Charlotte  was  being  a  hypocrite,  as,  thank  heaven, 
all  good  women  sometimes  are.  She  had  griefs  ;  she  hid 
them  from  him.  She  had  doubts  and  fears :  they  fled 
when  he  came  in  view,  and  she  clung  to  his  strong  arm, 
and  looked  in  his  honest  blue  eyes.  She  did  not  tell  him 
of  those  painful  nights  when  her  eyes  were  wakeful  and 
tearful.  A  yellow  old  woman  in  a  white  jacket,  with  a 
nightcap  and  a  night-light,  would  come,  night  after  night, 
to  the  side  of  her  little  bed;  and  there  stand,  and  with 
her  grim  voice  bark  against  Philip.  That  old  woman's 
lean  finger  would  point  to  all  the  rents  in  poor  Philip's 
threadbare  paletot  of  a  character  —  point  to  the  holes  and 
tear  them  wider  open.  She  would  stamp  on  those  muddy 
boots.  She  would  throw  up  her  peaked  nose  at  the  idea  of 
the  poor  fellow's  pipe  —  his  pipe,  his  great  companion  and 
comforter  when  his  dear  little  mistress  was  awa}^  She  would 
discourse  on  the  partners  of  the  night ;  the  evident  atten- 
tions of  this  gentleman,  the  politeness  and  high  breeding 
of  that. 

And  when  that  dreary  nightly  torture  was  over,  and 
Charlotte's  mother  had  left  the  ])oor  child  to  herself,  some- 
times Madame  Smolensk,  sitting  up  over  her  ledgers  and  bills, 
and  wakeful  with  her  own  cares,  would  steal  up  and  con- 
sole poor  Charlotte  ;  and  bring  her  some  tisane,  excellent 
for  the  nerves;  and  talk  to  her  about  —  about  the  subject 
of  which  Charlotte  best  liked  to  hear.  And  though  Smo- 
lensk was  civil  to  Mrs.  Baynes  in  the  morning,  as  her  j)ro- 
fessional  duty  obliged  her  to  be,  she  has  owned  that  she 
often  felt  a  desire  to  strangle  Madame  la  Generale  for  her 


438  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

conduct  to  her  little  angel  of  a  daugliter ;  and  all  because 
Monsieur  Philippe  smells  the  pipe,  parbleu !  ''What?  a 
family  that  owes  you  the  bread  Avhich  they  eat ;  and  they 
draw  back  for  a  pipe  !  The  cowards,  the  cowards  !  A  sol- 
dier's daughter  is  not  afraid  of  it.  Merci !  Tenoz,  M. 
Philippe,"  she  said  to  our  friend  when  matters  came  to  an 
extremity.  "Do  you  know  what  in  your  place  I  would 
do  ?  To  a  Frenchman  I  would  not  say  so ;  that  under- 
stands itself.  But  these  things  make  themselves  otherwise 
in  England.  I  have  no  money,  but  I  have  a  cachemire. 
Take  him ;  and  if  I  were  you,  I  would  make  a  little  voyage 
to  Gretna  Grin." 

And  now,  if  you  please,  we  will  quit  the  Champs 
Elysees.  We  will  cross  the  road  from  Madame's  boarding- 
house.  AVe  will  make  our  way  into  the  Faubourg  St. 
Honore,  and  actually  enter  a  gate  over  which  the  L-on, 
the  Un-c-rn,  and  the  K-y-1  Cr-wn  and  A-ms  of  the  Three 
K-ngd-ms  are  sculptured,  and  going  under  the  porte- 
cochere,  and  turning  to  the  right,  ascend  a  little  stair,  and 
ask  of  the  attendant  on  the  landing,  who  is  in  the  chan- 
cellerie  ?  The  attendant  says  that  several  of  those  mes~ 
sleitrs  y  sont.  In  fact,  on  entering  the  room,  you  find  Mr. 
Motcomb, — let  us  say  —  Mr.  Lowndes,  Mr.  Halkin  and 
our  young  friend  Mr.  Walsingham  Hely,  seated  at  their 
respective  tables  in  the  midst  of  considerable  smoke. 
Smoking  in  the  midst  of  these  gentlemen,  and  bestriding 
his  chair,  as  though  it  were  his  horse,  sits  that  gallant 
young  Irish  chieftain.  The  O'Eourke.  Some  of  the  gentle- 
men are  copying,  in  a  large  handwriting,  despatches  on 
foolscap  paper.  I  would  rather  be  torn  to  pieces  by 
O'Eourke's  wildest  horses,  than  be  understood  to  hint  at 
what  those  despatches,  at  what  those  despatch-boxes  contain. 
Perhaps  they  contain  some  news  from  the  Court  of  Spain, 
where  some  intrigues  are  carried  on,  a  knowledge  of  which 
would  make  your  hair  start  off  your  head;  perhaps  that 
box,  for  which  a  messenger  is  waiting  in  a  neighboring 
apartment,  has  locked  up  twenty-four  yards  of  Chantilly 
lace  for  Lady  Belweather,  and  six  new  French  farces  for 
Tom  Tiddler  of  the  Foreign  Office,  who  is  mad  about  the 
theatre.  It  is  years  and  years  ago ;  how  should  I  know 
what  there  is  in  those  despatch-boxes  ? 

But  the  work,  whatever  it  may  be,  is  not  very  pressing 
—  for  there  is  only  Mr.  Chesham  —  did  I  say  Chesham 
before,  by  the  way  ?     You  may  call  him  Mr.  Sloanestreet  if 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH  THE    WORLD.        439 

you  like.  There  is  only  Chesham  (and  he  always  takes 
things  to  the  grand  serious)  wiio  seems  to  be  much  engaged 
in  writing;  and  the  conversation  goes  on. 

''  Who  gave  it  ?  "  asks  Motcomb. 

"  The  black  man,  of  course,  gave  it.  We  would  not  pre- 
tend to  compete  with  such  a  long  purse  as  his.  You 
should  have  seen  what  faces  he  made  at  the  bill !  Thirty 
francs  a  bottle  for  Khine  wine.  He  grinned  with  the  most 
horrible  agony  when  he  read  the  addition.  He  almost 
turned  yellow.  He  sent  away  his  wife  early.  How  long 
that  girl  was  hanging  about  London;  and  think  of  her 
hooking  a  millionnaire  at  last !  Othello  is  a  frightful 
screw,  and  diabolically  jealous  of  his  wife." 

"  WHiat  is  the  name  of  the  little  man  who  got  so  dismally 
drunk,  and  began  to  cry  about  old  Ringwood  ?  " 

"Twysden  —  the  woman's  brother.  Don't  you  know 
Humbug  Twysden,  the  father  ?  The  youth  is  more  offen- 
sive than  the  parent." 

"A  most  disgusting  little  beast.  Would  come  to  the 
Varietes,  because  we  said  we  were  going:  would  go  to 
Lamoignon's,  where  the  Russians  gave  a  dance  and  a  lans- 
quenet.    Why  didn't  you  come,  Hely  ?" 

Mr.  Hell/.  —  I  tell  you  I  hate  the  whole  thing.  Those 
painted  old  actresses  give  me  the  horrors.  What  do  I  want 
with  winning  Motcomb's  money,  who  hasn't  got  any  ?  Do 
you  think  it  gives  me  ^mj  pleasure  to  dance  with  old  Cara- 
dol  ?  She  puts  me  in  mind  of  my  grandmother  — only  she 
is  older.  Do  you  think  I  want  to  go  and  see  that  insane 
old  Boutzoff  leering  at  Corinne  and  Palmyrine,  and  making 
a  group  of  three  old  women  together !  I  wonder  how  you 
fellows  can  go  on.  Aren't  you  tired  of  truffles  and  ecre- 
visses  a  la  Bordelaise  ;  and  those  old  opera  people,  whose 
withered  old  carcasses  are  stuffed  with  them  ? 

The  O'R.  —  There  was  Cerisette,  I  give  ye  me  honor. 
Ye  never  saw.     She  fell  asleep  in  her  cheer  — 

3fr.  Lowndes.  — In  her  hwhat,  O'E.  ? 

The  0'^.— Well,  in  her  chair  then!  And  Figaroff 
smayred  her  feece  all  over  with  the  craym  out  of  a  Char- 
lotte Roose.  She's  a  regular  bird  and  moustache,  you  know, 
Cerisette  has. 

Mr.  Hehj.  —  Charlotte,  Charlotte  !  Oh  !  {He  clutches  his 
hair  madly.     His  elbows  are  on  the  table.) 

Mr.  Lowndes.  — It's  that  girl  he  meets  at  the  tea-parties, 
where  he  goes  to  be  admired. 


440  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

3Ir.  Hely.  —  It  is  better  to  drink  tea  than,  like  you  fel- 
lows, to  muddle  wliat  brains  you  have  with  bad  champagne. 
It  is  better  to  look,  and  to  hear,  and  to  see,  and  to  dance 
with  a  modest  girl,  than,  like  you  fellows,  to  be  capering 
about  in  taverns  with  painted  old  hags  like  that  old  Ceris- 
ette,  who  has  got  a  face  like  d^iiomvie  culte,  and  who  danced 
before  Lord  Malmesbury  at  the  Peace  of  Amiens.  She  did, 
I  tell  you ;  and  before  Napoleon. 

Mr.  Chesham.  —  (Looks  up  from  his  writinfj.)  — There  was 
no  Napoleon  then.     It  is  of  no  consequence,  but  — 

Lowndes.  —  Thank  you,  I  owe  you  one.  You're  a  most 
valuable  man,  Chesham,  and  a  credit  to  your  father  and 
mother. 

Mr.  Chesham.  —  Well,  the  Eirst  Consul  was  Bonaparte. 

Lowndes.  —  I  am  obliged  to  you.  I  say  I  am  obliged  to 
you,  Chesham,  and  if  you  would,  like  any  refreshment,  order 
it  meis  snmptihus^  old  boy  —  at  my  expense. 

Chesham.  —  These  fellows  will  never  be  serious.  {He 
resumes  his  tvriting.) 

Hely.  —  (Iterum,  but  very  low.)  —  Oh  Charlotte,  Char — 

Mr.  Loumdes.  —  Hely  is  raving  about  that  girl  —  that  girl 
with  the  horrible  old  mother  in  yellow,  don't  you  remem- 
ber ?  and  old  father  —  good  old  military  party,  in  a  shabby 
old  coat  —  who  was  at  the  last  ball.  What  was  the  name  ? 
O'Rourke,  what  is  the  rhyme  for  Baynes  ? 

The  O'E.  —  Fays,  and  be  hanged  to  you.  You're  always 
makin'  fun  on  me,  you  little  cockney ! 

Mr.  Motcomh.  —  Hely  was  just  as  bad  about  the  Danish 
girl.  You  know,  Walse,  you  composed  ever  so  many  verses 
to  her,  and  wrote  home  to  your  mother  to  ask  leave  to 
marry  her ! 

The  O^E.  —  I'd  think  him  big  enough  to  marry  without 
anybody's  leave  —  only  they  wouldn't  have  him  because  he's 
so  ugly. 

Mr.  Hely.  —  Very  good,  O'Rourke.  Very  neat  and  good. 
You  were  diverting  the  company  Avith  an  anecdote.  Will 
you  proceed  ? 

The  O'E.  —  AVell,  then,  the  Cerisette  had  been  dancing 
both  on  and  off  the  stage  till  she  was  dead  tired,  I  suppose, 
and  so  she  fell  dead  asleep,  and  Figaroff,  taking  the  what- 
d'ye-call-'em  out  of  the  Charlotte  Roose,  smayred  her  face 
all  — 

Voice  ivithout.  —  Deet  Mosho  Bingw^ood  Twysden,  sivo 
play,  poor  I'honorable  Moshoo  Lownds  ! 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WOULD.        441 

Servant.  — ^Monsieur  Twysdex  ! 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  ]\Lr,  Lowndes,  how  are  you  ? 

Mr.  Lowndes.  — Very  v/ell,  thank  you  ;  how  are  you  ? 

Mr.  Hely.  —  Lowndes  is  uncommonly  brilliant  to-day. 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  Not  the  worse  for  last  night  ?  Some  of 
as  were  a  little  elevated,  I  think ! 

Mr.  Lowndes.  —  Some  of  us  quite  the  reverse.  (Little 
(M(l,  what  does  he  want  ?  Elevated  I  he  couldn't  keep  his 
little  legs  !) 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  Eh !  Smoking,  I  see.  Thank  you.  I 
very  seldom  do  —  but  as  you  are  so  kind  —  puff.  Eh  — 
uncommonly  handsome  person  that,  eh  —  Madame  Cerisette. 

The  O'Pi.  —  Thank  ye  for  telling  us. 

Mr.  Lowndes. — If  she  meets  with  your  applause,  Mr. 
Twysden,  I  should  think  Mademoiselle  Cerisette  is  all 
right. 

The  O'B.  — Maybe  they'd  raise  her  salary  if  ye  told  her. 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  Heh  —  I  see  you're  chaffing  me.  We 
have  a  good  deal  of  that  kind  of  thing  in  Somerset — iu 
our  —  in  —  hem!  This  tobacco  is  a  little  strong.  I  am  a 
little  shaky  this  morning.  Who,  by  the  wa}',  is  that  Prince 
Boutzoff  who  played  lansquenet  with  us  ?  Is  he  one  of  the 
Livonian  Boutzoffs,  or  one  of  the  Hessian  Boutzoffs  ?  I 
remember  at  my  poor  uncle's,  Lord  Ringwood,  meeting  a 
Prince  Blucher  de  Boutzoff,  something  like  this  man,  by  the 
way.     You  knew  my  poor  uncle  ? 

Mr.  Lowndes. — Dined  with  him  here  three  months  ago 
at  the  "  Trois  Ereres." 

3Ir.  Twysden.  —  Been  at  Whipham,  I  dare  say  ?  I  was 
bred  up  there.  It  was  said  once  that  I  was  to  have  been 
his  heir.  He  was  very  fond  of  me.  He  was  my  god- 
father. 

The  O^R. — Then  he  gave  you  a  mug,  and  it  wasn't  a 
beauty  (sotto  voce). 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  You  said  somethin'  ?  I  was  speaking  of 
Whipham,  Mr.  Lowndes  —  one  of  the  linest  places  in 
England,  I  should  say,  except  Chatsworth,  you  know,  and 
that  sort  of  thing.  %lj  grandfather  built  it  —  I  mean  my 
great  grandfather,  for  I'm  of  the  Ringwood  family. 

Mr.  Lowndes. — Then  was  Lord  Ringwood  your  grand- 
father, or  3'our  grand  godfather  ? 

Mr.  Twysden.  — He  !  he  !  ]\Iy  mother  was  his  own  niece. 
My  grandfather  was  his  own  brother,  and  I  am  — 

Mr,  Lowndes.  —  Thank  you.     I  see  now. 


442  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Mr.  Halkln. — Das  ist  sehr  interessant.  Ich  versichere 
ilinen  das  ist  sehr  interessant. 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  Said  sometliin'  ?  (This  cigar  is  really 
—  I'll  throw  it  away,  please.)  I  was  saying  that  at  Whip- 
ham,  where  I  was  bred  up,  we  would  be  forty  at  dinner,  and 
as  many  more  in  the  upper  servants'  hall. 

Mr.  Lowndes. — And  you  dined  in  the — you  had  pretty 
good  dinners. 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  A  French  chef.  Two  aids,  besides  turtle 
from  town.  Two  or  three  regular  cooks  on  the  establish- 
ment, besides  kitchen-maids,  roasters,  and  that  kind  of 
thing,  you  understand.  How  many  have  you  here  now  ? 
In  Lord  Estridge's  kitchen  you  can't  do,  I  should  say,  at 
least  without  —  let  me  see  —  why,  in  our  small  way  —  and 
if  you  come  to  London  my  father  will  be  dev'lish  glad  to 
see  you  —  we  — 

Mr.  Lowndes.  —  How  is  Mrs.  AVoolcomb  this  morning  ? 
That  was  a  fair  dinner  Woolcomb  gave  us  yesterday. 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  He  has  plenty  of  money,  plenty  of 
money.  I  hope,  Lowndes,  when  you  come  to  town  —  the 
first  time  you  come,  mind  —  to  give  you  a  hearty  welcome 
and  some  of  my  father's  old  por — 

Mr.  Hely.  —  Will  nobody  kick  this  little  beast  out  ? 

Servant.  —  Monsieur  Chesham  peut-il  voir  M.  Firmin  ? 

Mr.  Chesham.  —  Certainly.     Come  in,  Firmin  ! 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  Mr.  Fearmang  —  Mr.  Fir —  Mr.  who  ? 
You  don't  mean  to  say  you  receive  that  fellow,  Mr.  Ches- 
ham ? 

Mr.  Chesham.  —  AVhat  fellow  ?  and  what  do  you  mean, 
Mr.  What-d'ye-call-'im  ? 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  That  blackg —  oh  —  that  is,  I  —  I  beg 
your  — 

Mr.  Firmin  {entering  and  going  %q)  to  Mr.  Cheshani).  —  I 
say,  give  me  a  bit  of  news  of  to-day.  What  were  you  say- 
ing about  that —  hum  and  hum  and  haw  —  mayn't  I  have 
it  ?  {He  is  talking  eonfidentially  ivith  Mr.  Chesham,  when 
he  sees  Mr.  Twysden.)  W^hat !  you  have  got  that  little  cad 
here  ? 

Mr.  Lowndes.  —  You  know  Mr.  Twysden,  Mr.  Firmin. 
He  was  just  speaking  about  you. 

Mr.  Firmin.  —  Was  he  ?     So  much  the  worse  for  me. 

Mr.  Twysden.  —  Sir  !  W^e  don't  speak.  You've  no  right 
to  speak  to  me  in  this  manner  !  Don't  speak  to  me :  and 
I  won't    speak   to   you,    sir  —  there  !    Good  -  morning,  Mr. 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        443 

Lowndes  !  Remember  your  promise  to  come  and  dine  with 
us  when  you  come  to  town.  And  — one  word —  (Jie  holds 
Mr.  Lowndes  by  the  button.  By  the  way,  he  has  very  curious 
resemblances  to  Twysden  senior)  —  we  shall  be  here  for  ten 
days  certainly.  I  think  Lady  Estridge  has  something  next 
week.     I  have  left  our  cards,  and  — 

Mr.  Lowndes.  —  Take  care,  ^e  will  be  there  (jwintivrj 
to  Mr.  Firm  in). 

Mr.  Twysden. — What?  T/mz^  beggar  ?  You  don't  mean 
to  say  Lord  Estridge  will  receive  such  a  fellow  as  —  Good- 
by,  good-by  !     (Lxit  Mr.  TwysdeJi.) 

Mr.  Firmin.  —  I  caught  that  little  fellow's  eye.  He's  my 
cousin,  you  know.  We  have  had  a  quarrel.  I  am  sure  he 
was  speaking  about  me. 

3Ir.  Lowndes.  —  Well,  now^  you  mention  it,  he  was  speak- 
ing about  3^ou. 

3Ir.  Firmin. — Was  he?  Then  donH  believe  him,  Mr. 
Lowndes.     That  is  my  advice. 

Mr.  Hely  {at  his  desk  composing). — "Maiden  of  the 
blushing  cheek,  maiden  of  the  —  oh,  Charlotte,  Char — "  he 
bites  his  pen  and  dashes  off  rapid  rhymes  on  Government 
paper. 

Mr.  Firmin.  —  What  does  he  say  ?     He  said  Charlotte. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  —  He  is  always  in  love  and  breaking  his 
heart,  and  he  puts  it  into  poems ;  he  wraj^s  it  up  in  paper, 
and  falls  in  love  with  somebody  else.  Sit  down  and  smoke 
a  cigar,  won't  you  ? 

Mr.  Firmin. — Can't  stay.  Must  make  up  my  letter. 
We  print  to-morrow. 

Mr.  Loicndes.  —  Who  wrote  that  article  pitching  into 
Peel? 

Mr.  Firmin.  —  Family  secret  —  can't  say  —  good  by. 
{Exit  Mr.  Firmin.) 

Mr.  Chesham.  —  In  my  opinion  a  most  ill-advised  and 
intemperate  article.  That  journal,  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette, 
indulges  in  a  very  needless  acrimony,  I  think. 

Mr.  Loicndes.  — Chesham  does  not  like  to  call  a  spade  a 
spade.  He  calls  it  a  horticultural  utensil.  You  have  a 
great  career  before  you,  Chesham.  You  have  a  wisdom  and 
gravity  beyond  your  years.  You  bore  us  slightly,  but  we 
all  respect  you  —  we  do  indeed.  What  was  the  text  at 
church  last  Sunday  ?  Oh,  by  the  way,  Hely,  you  litUe 
miscreant,  you  were  at  church  J 

Mr.  Chesham.  —  You  need  not  blush,  Hely.     I  am  not  a 


444  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

joking  man ;  but  this  kind  of  jesting  does  not  strike  me  as 
being  particularly  amusing,  Lowndes. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  —  You  go  to  church  because  you  are  good, 
because  your  aunt  was  a  bishop  or  something.  But  Hely 
goes  because  he  is  a  little  miscreant.  You  hypocritical 
little  beggar,  you  got  yourself  up  as  if  you  were  going  to  a 
(lejeuner,  and  you  had  your  hair  curled,  and  you  were  seen 
singing  out  of  the  same  hymn-book  with  that  pretty  Miss 
Baynes,  you  little  wheedling  sinner  ;  and  you  walked  home 
with  the  family — my  sisters  saw  you  —  to  a  boarding- 
house  where  they  live  —  by  Jove  !  you  did.  And  I'll  tell 
your  mother ! 

Mr.  Chesham.  —  I  wish  you  would  not  make  such  a  noise, 
and  let  ma  do  my  work,  Lowndes.     You  — 

Here  Asmodeus  whisks  us  out  of  the  room,  and  we  lose  the 
rest  of  the  young  men's  conversation.  But  enough  has 
been  overheard,  I  think,  to  show  what  direction  young  Mr. 
Hely's  thoughts  had  taken.  Since  he  was  seventeen  years 
of  age  (at  the  time  when  we  behold  him  he  may  be  twenty- 
three),  this  romantic  youth  has  been  repeatedly  in  love: 
with  his  elderly  tutor's  daughter,  of  course  ;  with  a  young 
haberdasher  at  the  university  ;  with  his  sister's  confidential 
friend ;  with  the  blooming  young  Danish  beauty  last  year  ; 
and  now,  I  very  much  fear,  a  young  acquaintance  of  ours 
has  attracted  the  attention  of  this  imaginative  Don  Juan. 
Whenever  Heiy  is  in  love,  he  fancies  his  passion  will  last 
forever,  makes  a  confidant  of  the  first  person  at  hand,  weeps 
plenteously,  and  writes  reams  of  verses.  Do  you  remember 
how  in  a  previous  chapter  we  told  you  that  Mrs.  Tuffin  was 
determined  she  would  not  ask  Philip  to  her  soirees,  and 
declared  him  to  be  a  forward  and  disagreeable  young  man  ? 
She  was  glad  enough  to  receive  young  Walsingham_ Hely,' 
with  his  languid  air,  his  drooping  head,  his  fair  curls,  and 
his  flower  in  his  button-hole  ;  and  Hely,  being  then  in  hot 
pursuit  of  one  of  the  tall  Miss  Blacklocks,  went  to  Mrs. 
Tuffin's,  was  welcomed  there  with  all  the  honors  ;  and 
there,  fluttering  away  from  Miss  Blacklock,  our  butterfly 
lighted  on  ^liss  Baynes.  oSTow  Miss  Baynes  would  have 
danced  with  a  mopstick,  she  was  so  fond  of  dancins^:  and 
Hely,  who  had  practised  in  a  thousand  Chaumieres,  Mabilles 
(or  whatever  was  the  public  dance-room  then  in  vogue),  was 
a  most  amiable,  agile,  and  excellent  partner.  And  she  told 
Philip  next  day  what  a  nice  little  partner  she  had  found  — ■ 
poor  Philip,  who  was  not  asked  to  that  paradise  of  a  party, 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        445 

And  Pliilip  said  that  he  knew  the  little  man ;  that  he  be- 
lieved he  was  rich ;  that  he  wrote  pretty  little  verses  :  — - 
in  a  word,  Philip,  in  his  leonine  ways,  regarded  little  Hely 
as  a  lion  regards  a  lapdog. 

Xow  this  little  Slyboots  had  a  thousand  artful  little  ways. 
He  had  a  very  keen  sensibility  and  a  line  taste,  which  was 
most  readily  touched  by  innocence  and  beauty.  He  had 
tears,  I  won't  say  at  command ;  for  they  were  under  no 
command,  and  gushed  from  his  line  eyes  in  spite  of  himself. 
Charlotte's  innocence  and  freshness  smote  him  with  a  keen 
pleasure.  Bon  Dieu  !  "What  was  that  great,  tall  Miss  Black- 
lock  who  had  tramped  through  a  thousand  ball-rooms,  com- 
pared to  this  artless,  happy  creature  ?  He  danced  away 
from  Miss  Blacklock  and  after  Charlotte  the  moment  he 
saw  our  young  friend ;  and  the  Blacklocks  who  knew  all 
about  him,  and  his  money,  and  his  mother,  and  his  expecta- 
tions —  who  had  his  verses  in  their  poor  album,  by  whose 
carriage  he  had  capered  day  after  day  in  the  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne —  stood  scowling  and  deserted,  as  this  young  fellow 
danced  off  with  that  Miss  Baynes,  who  lived  in  a  boarding- 
house,  and  came  to  parties  in  a  cab  with  her  horrid  old 
mother!  The  Blacklocks  were  as  though  they  were  not 
henceforth  for  Mr.  Hely.  They  asked  him  to  dinner. 
Bless  my  soul,  he  utterly  forgot  all  about  it !  He  never 
came  to  their  box  on  their  night  at  the  opera.  Not  one 
twinge  of  remorse  had  he,  Not  one  pang  of  remembrance. 
If  he  did  remember  them,  it  was  when  they  bored  him,  like 
those  tall  tragic  women  in  black  who  are  always  coming  in 
their  great  long  trains  to  sing  sermons  to  Don  Juan. 
Ladies,  your  name  is  down  in  his  lordship's  catalogue ;  his 
servant  has  it ;  and  you,  ISfiss  Anna,  are  number  one  thou- 
sand and  three. 

But,  as  for  Miss  Charlotte,  that  is  a  different  affair. 
What  innocence!  What  afratcheicr /  What  a  merry  good- 
humor  !  Don  Slyboots  is  touched,  he  is  tenderly  interested : 
her  artless  voice  thrills  through  his  frame ;  he  trembles  as 
he  waltzes  with  her ;  as  his  line  eyes  look  at  her,  psha ! 
what  is  that  film  coming  over  them  ?  0  Slyboots,  Slyboots  1 
And  as  she  has  nothing  to  conceal,  she  has  told  him  all  he 
wants  to  know  before  long.  This  is  her  first  winter  in 
Paris :  her  first  season  of  coming  out.  She  has  only  been 
to  two  balls  before,  and  two  plays,  and  an  opera.  And  her 
father  met  ^Mr.  Hely  at  Lord  Trim's.  That  was  her  father 
playing  at  whist.     And  tliey  lived  at  Madame  Smolensk's 


446  THE  ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

boarding-house  in  the  Champs  Ely  sees.  And  they  had  been 
to  Mr.  Dash's,  and  to  Mrs.  Blank's,  and  she  believed  they 
were  going  to  Mrs.  Star's  on  Friday.  And  did  they  go  to 
church  ?  Of  course  they  went  to  church,  to  the  Eue 
d'Aguesseau,  or  wherever  it  might  be.  And  Slyboots  went 
to  church  next  Sunday.  You  may  perhaps  guess  to  what 
church.  And  he  went  the  Sunday  after.  And  he  sang  his 
own  songs,  accompanying  himself  on  the  guitar,  at  his 
lodgings.  And  he  sang  elsewhere.  And  he  had  a  very 
pretty  little  voice,  Slyboots  had.  I  believe  those  poems 
under  the  common  title  of  "  Gretchen  "  in  our  Walsingham's 
charming  volume  were  all  inspired  by  Miss  Baynes.  He 
began  to  write  about  her  and  himself  the  very  first  night 
after  seeing  her.  He  smoked  cigarettes  and  drank  green 
tea.  He  looked  so  pale  —  so  pale  and  sad  that  he  quite 
pitied  himself  in  the  looking-glass  in  his  apartments  in  the 
Rue  Miromenil.  And  he  compared  himself  to  a  wrecked 
mariner,  and  to  a  grave,  and  to  a  m.an  entranced  and 
brought  to  life.  And  he  cried  quite  freely  and  satisfactorily 
by  himself.  And  he  went  to  see  his  mother  and  sister  next 
day  at  the  '^  Hotel  de  la  Terrasse,"  and  cried  to  them,  and 
said  he  was  in  love  this  time  forever  and  ever.  And  his 
sister  called  him  a  goose.  And  after  crying  he  ate  an  un- 
commonly good  dinner.  And  he  took  every  one  into  his 
confidence,  as  he  always  did  whenever  he  was  in  love : 
always  telling,  always  making  verses,  and  always  crying. 
As  for  Miss  Blacklock,  he  buried  the  dead  body  of  that 
love  deep  in  the  ocean  of  his  soul.  The  waves  engulfed 
Miss  B.  The  ship  rolled  on.  The  storm  went  doAvn.  And 
the  stars  rose,  and  the  dawn  was  in  his  soul,  &c.  Well,  well ! 
The  mother  was  a  vulgar  woman,  and  I  am  glad,  you  are 
out  of  it.  And  what  sort  of  people  are  General  Baynes  and 
Mrs.  Baynes  ? 

"  Oh,  delightful  people  !  Most  distinguished  officer,  the 
father;  modest  —  doesn't  say  a  word.  The  mother,  a  most 
lively,  brisk,  agreeable  woman.  You  must  go  and  see. her, 
ma'am.     I  desire  you'll  go  immediately." 

"  And  leave  cards  with  P.  P.  Cfor  the  Miss  Blacklocks  !  " 
says  Miss  Hely,  who  was  a  plain,  lively  person.  And  both 
mother  and  sister  spoiled  this  young  Hely ;  as  women 
ought  always  to  spoil  a  son,  a  brother,  a  father,  husband, 
grandfather  —  any  male  relative,  in  a  word. 

To  see  this  spoiled  son  married  was  the  good-natured 
mother's  fond  prayer.     An  eldest  son  had  died  a  rake ;  a 


ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD.        447 

victim  to  too  inucli  money,  pleasure,  idleness.  The 
widowed  mother  would  give  anything  to  save  this  one 
from  the  career  through  which  the  elder  passed.  The 
young  man  would  be  one  day  so  wealthy,  that  she  knew 
many  and  many  a  schemer  would  try  and  entrap  him. 
Perhaps  she  had  been  made  to  marry  his  father  because  he 
was  rich ;  and  she  remembered  the  gloom  and  wretchedness 
of  her  own  union.  Oh,  that  she  could  see  her  son  out  of 
temptation,  and  the  husband  of  an  honest  girl !  It  was 
the  young  lady's  first  season  ?  So  much  the  more  likely 
that  she  should  be  unworldly.  "The  General  —  don't  you 
remember  a  nice  old  gentleman  —  in  a  —  well,  in  a  wig  — 
that  day  we  dined  at  Lord  Trim's,  when  that  horrible  old 
Lord  Ring  wood  was  there  ?  That  was  G-eneral  Baynes ; 
and  he  broke  out  so  enthusiastically  in  defence  of  a  poor 
young  man  —  Dr.  Firmin's  son  —  who  was  a  bad  man,  I 
believe ;  but  I  shall  never  have  confidence  in  another  doctor 
again,  that  I  shan't.  And  we'll  call  on  these  people,  Fanny. 
Yes,  in  a  brown  wig  —  the  General,  I  perfectly  well 
remember  him,  and  Lord  Trim  said  he  was  a  most  dis- 
tinguished ofUcer.  And  I  have  no  doubt  his  Avife  will  be  a 
most  agreeable  person.  Those  generals'  wives  who  have 
travelled  over  the  world  must  have  acquired  a  quantity  of 
delightful  information.  At  a  boarding-house,  are  they  ?  I 
dare  say  very  pleasant  and  amusing.  And  we'll  drive  there 
and  call  on  them  immediately." 

On  that  day  as  Macgrigor  and  Moira  Baynes  were  dis- 
porting in  the  little  front  garden  of  Madame  Smolensk's,  I 
think  Moira  was  just  about  to  lick  Macgrigor,  when  his 
fratricidal  hand  was  stopped  by  the  sight  of  a  large  yellow 
carriage  —  a  large  London  dowager  family  carriage  —  from 
which  descended  a  large  London  family  footman,  with  side- 
locks  begrimed  with  powder,  with  calves  such  as  only 
belong  to  large  London  family  footmen,  and  with  cards  in 
his  liand.  "  Ceci  ^[adame  Smolensk  ? "  says  the  large 
menial.  "  Oui,"  says  the  boy,  nodding  his  head  ;  on  which 
the  footman  was  puzzled,  for  he  thouglit  from  his  readiness 
in  the  use  of  the  French  language  that  the  boy  was  a 
Frenchman. 

"  Ici  demure  General  Bang?"  continued  the  man. 

"Hand  us  ov^er  the  cards,  John.  Not  at  home,"  said 
Moira. 

"  Who  ain't  at  'ome  ?  "  inquired  the  menial. 

"General  Baynes,  my  father,  ain't  at  home.     He  shall 


448  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PhlLIP 

have  the  pasteboard  when  he  comes  in.  '  Mrs.  Hely  ? ' 
Oh,  Mac,  it's  the  same  name  as  that  young  swell  who  called 
the  other  day !  Ain't  at  home.  John.  Gone  out  to  pay 
some  visits.  Had  a  fly  on  purpose.  Gone  out  with  my 
sister.  'Pon  my  word,  they  have,  John.''  And  from  this 
accurate  report  of  the  boy's  behavior,  I  fear  that  the  young 
Baynes  must  have  been  brought  up  at  a  classical  and 
commercial  academy,  where  economy  was  more  studied 
than   politeness. 

Philip  comes  trudging  up  to  dinner,  and  as  this  is  not  his 
post  day,  arrives  early ;  he  hopes,  perhaps,  for  a  walk  with 
Miss  Charlotte,  or  a  coze  in  Madame  Smolensk's  little 
private  room.  He  hnds  the  two  boys  in  the  forecourt ;  and 
they  have  Mrs.  Hely's  cards  in  their  hands ;  and  they 
narrate  to  him  the  advent  and  departure  of  the  lady  in  the 
swell  carriage,  the  mother  of  the  young  swell  with  the 
flower  in  his  button-hole,  who  came  the  other  day  on  such 
a  jolly  horse.  "Yes.  And  he  was  at  church  last  Sunday, 
Philip,  and  he  gave  Charlotte  a  hymn-book.  And  he  sang : 
he  sang  like  the  piper  who  played  before  Moses,  Pa  said. 
And  Ma  said  it  was  wicked,  but  it  wasn't :  only  Pa's  fun, 
you  know.  And  Ma  said  you  never  came  to  church.  AVhy 
don't  you  ?  " 

Philip  had  no  taint  of  jealousy  in  his  magnanimous  com- 
position, and  would  as  soon  have  accused  Charlotte  of 
flirting  with  other  men  as  of  stealing  Madame's  silver 
spoons.  "  So  you  have  had  some  fine  visitors,"  he  says,  as 
the  fly  drives  up.  "  I  remember  that  rich  ISIrs.  Hely,  a 
patient  of  my  father's.  My  poor  mother  used  to  drive  to 
her  house." 

"  Oh,  we  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  Mr.  Hely,  Philip  !  " 
cries  i\Iiss  Charlotte,  not  heeding  the  scowls  of  her  mother, 
who  is  nodding  and  beckoning  angrily  to  the  girl. 

"  You  never  once  mentioned  him.  He  is  one  of  the 
greatest  dandies  about  Paris  :  quite  a  lion,"  remarks  Philip. 

"  Is  he  ?  What  a  funny  little  lion  !  I  never  thought 
about  him,"  says  Miss  Charlotte,  quite  simply.  0  ingrati- 
tude !  ingratitude !  And  we  have  told  how  Mr.  Walsiug- 
ham  was  crying  his  eyes  out  for  her. 

"  She  never  thought  about  him  ? "  cries  Mrs.  Baynes, 
quite  eagerly. 

"  The  piper,  is  it,  you're  talking  about  ?  "  asks  papa.  ^^  I 
called  him  piper,  you  see,  because  he  piped  so  sweetly  at 
eh —     Well,  my  love  ?  '* 


ON  HIS    WAY  THBOUGH   THE    WORLD.        449 

Mrs.  Baynes  was  nudging  her  General  at  this  moment. 
She  did  not  wish  that  the  pi^^er  should  form  the  subject  of 
conversation,  I  suppose. 

"  The  piper's  mother  is  very  rich,  and  the  piper  will 
inherit  after  her.  She  has  a  hue  house  in  London.  She 
gives  very  line  parties.  She  drives  in  a  great  carriage,  and 
she  has  come  to  call  upon  you,  and  ask  you  to  her  balls,  I 
suppose." 

Mrs.  Baynes  was  delighted  at  this  call.  And  when  she 
said,  "  I'm  sure  /  don't  value  fine  people,  or  their  fine 
parties,  or  their  fine  carriages,  but.  I  wish  that  my  dear 
child  should  see  the  world,"  —  I  don't  believe  a  word  which 
Mrs.  Baynes  said.  She  was  much  more  pleased  than  Char- 
lotte at  the  idea  of  visiting  this  fine  lady;  or  else,  why 
should  she  have  coaxed,  and  wheedled,  and  been  so  particu- 
larly gracious  to  the  General  all  the  evening  ?  She  wanted 
a  new  gown.  The  truth  is,  her  yellow  tvas  very  shabby, 
whereas  Charlotte,  in  plain  white  muslin,  looked  pretty 
enough  to  be  able  to  dispense  with  the  aid  of  any  French 
milliner.  I  fancy  a  consultation  with  Madame  and  Mrs. 
Bunch.  I  fancy  a  fly  ordered,  and  a  visit  to  the  milliner's 
the  next  day.  And  when  the  pattern  of  the  gown  is 
settled  with  the  milliner,  I  fancy  the  terror  on  Mrs. 
Baynes's  wizened  face  when  she  ascertains  the  amount  of 
the  bill.  To  do  her  justice,  the  General's  wife  had  spent 
little  upon  her  own  homely  person.  She  chose  her  gowns 
ugly,  but  cheap.  There  were  so  many  backs  to  clothe  in 
that  family  that  the  thrifty  mother  did  not  heed  the 
decoration  of  her  own. 


VOL.  I.  —  29 


**^i^«o.i5; 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLIN0I9-URBANA 


3  0112  055299694 


M^i'^'i 


■  'v^^^lHI 

^^P^: 

^^^' 

lH 

' '-' i^'^^^^^^B 

^H 

H 

SiM^^H 

^M 

t^M'y 

